Dignity
by morning.chickenhead
Summary: A first person account of Ellie's life at university as her first year comes to a close. Things are falling apart and she's shutting everyone out. How can she pick up the pieces? Also with Eric, Marco, Paige, and Johnny.
1. No One

Dignity

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Dignity_

_Chapter 1: No One_

I was pacing.

"I can't believe I wasted a whole year on this guy!"

"El, I thought you were okay with this," Marco sighed and half-closed the lid to his laptop, obviously concerned, but irritated at the same time. "You seemed so cool and collected about ending it with him."

"Yeah, I know, Marco. But I go to The Core every day and he comes waltzing in as if nothing ever happened. How does he have the _gall_ to –"

"Look, El, I know it's cold, but maybe you need to start pretending nothing happened either. He's not trying to be a bastard…it's called dignity. And you should try it sometime."

"Ha! Dignity…that's something Mr. Cradle-Robber one semester and I-prefer-older-women the next semester took from me long ago. It's not like he cheated on me just once, Marco. He cheated on me _twice_. And somehow – _somehow_ he _tricked_ me into forgiving him for it. That in itself is humiliating! How could I have gone back to him?"

"Tell me about it," Marco replied in a dry yet miserable tone, referring to his turbulent past with Dylan.

"And the worst thing is, Marco, I've slaved at The Core all freaking year long. And so much of what I was slaving for was attention from Jessie. And maybe a little of that 'dignity' you were referring to. But nooo, to him I was just 'Frosh.' 'Frosh,' 'Frosh,' 'Frosh.' Do we even call it that in Canada?"

"Frosh week?" He shivered. "Uh, yeah, I think that's a reality everywhere." Marco sat back in his chair and sipped at his tea.

"Well…whatev. I just wish that my personal and professional lives weren't so intimately bound up with one another. It makes life _really_ difficult."

"Well then, Eleanor," Marco said with a flourish, setting down his mug and standing up as he took both my hands in his, "I'd say that _you_…are on the right track. With Jessie out of the picture your professional life is _all yours_ and no one else's. And your personal life…well that's for you to know and me to find out, hm?"

I smirked a little at this humorous interjection. "Thanks, Marco. Now you get back to your…whatever you're doing, and I'll go…practice my Pulitzer Prize acceptance speech in front of the mirror."

Marco flopped back in his chair and reached for his laptop. "You go, girl."

Upstairs, the mirror was waiting, but I had no desire to look at myself at the moment. My laptop was waiting, with a half-hearted, half-written story about the students' union elections. My textbooks were also waiting, untouched since mid-February and taunting me with their secret: exams were starting in about a week. "Oh no," I groaned. "Not you, again. Stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes!" Honestly, between The Core and Jessie I hadn't exactly been keeping my grades up this year, minus in my Journalism class, for which most of my Core stories could double as assignments. The reality was, university was hard, and I hadn't yet gotten the hang of it, let alone the hang of the whole "adult relationship" thing. Marco was right, my professional life was all mine, but it was the only thing that was all mine, and as far as my ego was concerned, I'd pretty much flushed it down the toilet the day I "interviewed" Caitlin in front of 400 people – including Jessie, fellow journalism classmates, freaking university administrators, and who knows how many future professors were in that crowd. "Urgh…stupid, stupid, stupid," I chastised myself, hitting my forehead with my palm.

I realized then that I was indeed peering into the mirror at myself. _This_ was clearly a girl that did _not_ know what she was doing. Journalism was no longer just a hobby for me, it had become a _role_, a _performance_. The cutesy, Caitlin-esque haircut, the Starbucks lattes, the long, stylish black trench coat. I certainly wasn't your freaky high school goth girl anymore, not with these _slightly _yuppified clothes and the sell-out-to-the-first-guy-you-see attitude that had sunk me from Day One on campus. I was Ellie Nash, first-year journalism student. With that title came a certain amount of prestige, a certain set of expectations, a certain _dignity_, if you will, that had sucked me into a dark well of certainty whose rock bottom only signalled bare _uncertainty_. In high school I knew who I was. By carving out a certain niche at The Core and in Jessie's life I thought I could easily define who I was – that being a young, sophisticated professional – at university as well. But this girl in the mirror – I didn't know her. I had been trying all year to pretend that I knew what I was doing – and doing such a great job of it that I had even fooled myself.

"I can't wait for the year to be over," I muttered, ignoring my textbooks and moving for my laptop.

I plopped down on my bed and stretched my fingers, calling to mind the details and anecdotes I had researched over the past few days about the trials and tribulations of SU election time. I was focusing on the marketing strategies of various SU exec candidates, and was struck by how silly some of them were: some of my favourite posters read, "I won't make you wear pants!" and "This man knows how to use a keyboard." Not everyone was born to be a leader, I guess. And maybe not everyone was born to be a sophisticated professional either. But at university, if you weren't one of those, you were nothing. You were no one.

"I can't wait for the year to be over," I repeated, and began typing.


	2. Drown

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter Two: Drown_

It was around eight o'clock and I was just putting the final touches on the article and kind of smiling to myself, my mind having removed itself from the pit of despair I had been occupying earlier. Then Paige swaggered in.

"Um?" I stammered. "You? In my room?"

She grinned sheepishly.

"Why?" I demanded simply, confused.

"Hon, I have the _greatest_ news! And seeing as _Marco_ is at work and Griffin is probably downing a beer keg with his Engg friends, it seems you're the only person left in the house for me to spill to."

"Oh…kay…I…guess that's cool."

With the go-ahead she sunk into my bed and clapped her hands against her bare knees. "_Okay_. The girl you are looking at…has gotten a promotion! A _promotion_ at the…hardest place…in town…ever…to get a promotion at."

I smiled a bit and put aside my laptop. "Paige, that's great. So wha –"

She frowned. "Okay, okay. So it wasn't exactly a promotion. More like a 'mini'-promotion, if you will…"

"Paige…"

"Okay, so it's no promotion! But it _is_ a _special_ assignment. _I _will be accompanying Andrea to _New York!_" she squealed.

"Oh Paige, that's really cool. When are you going?"

"Next week!" she squealed. "David was supposed to go, but then he got mono. Quel misfortune. And it _is_ kind of like a promotion, because I'll be getting paid time-and-a-half during the day, and at night I have a _modest_ spending allowance to use _out on the town!_ It's for a whole week. A whole week in New York!"

As Paige continued to chatter on about the details of her newfound love, New York, I pulled one of my textbooks towards me and thumbed through it. I hadn't even opened this one. I wondered if it was too late to return it. It was for Sociology, a course for which I had…_accidentally_ missed the last three lectures of. The book beside it was for Ecology, which I was fairly interested in but had basically picked up with Caitlin in mind. It wasn't exactly my cup of tea.

Paige had taken my laptop and pulled up the website of the hotel she would be staying at. "Isn't it _amazing_?" she gushed. "It has _four pools!_"

"Uh, yeah, that's great," I said, only glancing at the page. Suddenly my brain was filled with Sociology and Ecology, and with the sheer _lack_ of knowledge I had about either subject.

"Okay, hon," she said, hopping off the bed and grabbing my wrist. "We've _got_ to go tell Marco. I can't wait another second!"

What she really meant was, she couldn't stand talking to someone who wasn't listening. I grabbed my coat and memory stick as she dragged me out the door. While we were on campus I could drop off my story a day early, and while no one was there. I grimaced. The less time I spent at The Core, the better.

At the Campus Club I sat with my chin in my hands at a small, round table, watching Paige bouncily follow Marco around from table to table, filling him in on the details of her "special" assignment. Jessie was nowhere to be seen, thank God. Or _was_ it thank God? Maybe I actually _wanted_ to see him. But if that was the case, why hadn't I spent the day at The Core as usual? Or yesterday for that matter? Or last week…

"Ellie, how's it going?"

Eric slapped a wet cloth against the table and wiped up all the crumbs and dried, sticky spills that Marco had missed.

"Oh, you know, just great…and stuff…"

Eric grinned. "I've missed you around The Core. But, I mean, I totally understand." He nodded to Marco. "It's really awkward some days working together."

I smiled wryly. Eric and Marco's relationship hadn't even gotten to the ball park, let alone first, second, third base. Things were awkward between them not because a hot-and-heavy relationship had crashed-and-burned but because…things had always been awkward between them! What we did have in common, though?: The Core, not to mention both being single, and kind of helpless. "You're cool, Eric," I declared, nodding. "Marco's not 'it,' but I'm sure the right guy's out there for you."

"You too," Eric smiled. "Don't let Jessie completely deflate you. That's not fair to yourself, considering you have three more years here, and loads of good-looking men to meet. Hey, I know it's been tough on you lately. Let me bring you something, my treat."

"Ohh, are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes." He looked me in the eye. "You may not think you've done anything for me, Ellie, but you did get me out of my shell a bit. Next time I like a guy, I'll be able to ask him out no problem. I mean, after Marco, the result's not going to get much worse!"

I laughed. "Okay, cool. Well, I guess I could have a beer. It would be good to loosen up my mind a bit for all that studying I have waiting for me back home."

"Sure, no problem. I'll be back as soon as I can."

As Eric walked off back to the kitchen Paige slid into the chair across from me.

"Okay, I think I've actually talked my own ear off." I didn't say anything. "Hon? You doing okay?"

"Er, yeah, I guess so."

"Is it Jessie?"

"Yes…" But remembering the textbooks on my bed, I corrected myself. "No…well, I guess it's just a lot of things. School and stuff."

"Okay," she said, smirking, "I _suppose_ I'm not the best person for advice then, considering I…burned all my textbooks and class notes in my residence garbage can! But support? I can do that."

"Thanks, but I think I kind of talked my own ear off earlier when I was complaining to Marco about everything. I don't even really know why I feel down these days. I know the thing with Jessie happened and I kind of have a lot on my plate, but yeah, I'm just…drowning a bit right now." Seeing that Eric was already headed back with the beer he had offered me, I added, "And so right now I'm going to drown a few of my sorrows. Thanks, Eric. You rock. Really."

Paige went to order something from the bar, and Marco crept up behind me. "Nash, Jessie at six o'clock. Stay cool."


	3. The Contract

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter Three: The Contract _

As Marco wandered off again, I turned around slowly. Jessie was in the doorway to the Campus Club, and when I met his eye he smiled that cute, tight-lipped, half smile of his and wiggled his fingers in a wave. Without responding I turned around slowly once more to face the table, and held my face in my hands. For some reason my palms were sweaty…and my heart was pounding. I didn't know if it was horror or attraction.

I was surprised when a few minutes later Paige returned with a basket of calamari and diet coke and Jessie still hadn't come to harass me. I tossed a quick look behind me and he was gone. My heart falling definitely indicated my emotion this time: disappointment. And annoyance. Didn't he _owe me_ the attention of half-small talk, maybe a quarter-grovelling, a quarter-acknowledging my absence from The Core?

I shoved a piece of calamari in my mouth and washed it down with a gulp of beer. Maybe Paige couldn't help me with the school stuff, but I had the supposedly hottest babe from high school at the table with me; shouldn't I take advantage of her vast knowledge of the opposite sex?

"What is it with guys," I stated, rather than asked. "I mean, what do they want from us. Why do they make things so difficult. And then for them it's still easy."

"What is it with them?" Paige repeated. "That's easy. They're guys. What do they want from us? A good time. And sex. Lots of sex. Why do they make things so difficult while for them life's a cakewalk? Because they take things at face value, whereas we analyze, and over-analyze, and analyze some more. We're more _serious_. We tend to care more."

"Can you really make such huge generalizations?" I asked suspiciously.

"More or less," she replied non-chalantly. "I mean, of course the reasons go much deeper than what I've said. It's really that they only _pretend_ not to care. They're always trying to protect their manhood."

"I don't know," I said, still unconvinced. "I tend to think of people more as…people, not as 'girls are this way' and 'guys are that way.' "

"Well, hon, you're the one that asked me what's up with guys. Ask an essentialist question, get an essentialist answer."

I gulped at my beer again. Something Paige had said had stuck with me. "So when you say that guys want a good time…and…lots of…sex; I mean, what do you mean by that?'

Paige tossed her head back and laughed. "You're right, it was slightly redundant, since a good time basically equates to sex, and vice versa."

"So, you know, you do stuff, and have a good time of it?"

"Okay, I _know_ you've done this so-called stuff. Marco told me what he walked in on!"

I brushed off the mention of Marco's indiscretion and persisted, albeit completely ambiguously. "Guys want a good time…so what happens when they have sex but not a good time? Or a good time but not sex? You say those are the same thing, but what if they're not, necessarily?"

"Oh boy, you make my head hurt. Was there a question in there somewhere?"

"I'm a virgin," I blurted out.

Paige appeared shocked. "How…can you be a virgin? You and Jessie were…"

"That's what I said!" I cried. "We did…you know, _stuff_, but…we never went all the way."

Again, Paige, shocked. "How is that _possible?_"

This was not making me feel any better. I glared down at the inch of beer left in the mug in despair. "It's possible because…I was just never cool with it."

Paige put her hand on my shoulder from across the table and waited until I looked up at her. "Sweetie, it's okay. You don't _have_ to be cool with it automatically."

"Well then why would you react like, 'How is that _possible?_' I mean, if you're so shocked, there must be _something_ wrong with me."

She shook her head. "I was wrong. I guess I had always just _assumed_…I mean, Jessie's quite the big-man-on-campus."

I snorted cynically. "I noticed."

"Ooh, hon…I mean, I hate to say it, but it _could be_ why he had this tendency to stray…" When I jolted, she patted my shoulder soothingly. "No, no, I'm _not_ saying it's _your fault_ or that you should just _give_ a guy exactly what he wants, _when_ he wants it. But remember that whole 'essentialist' answer I gave you before?"

I nodded miserably.

"Unfortunately, I believe there's something in it. If a guy's in a committed relationship, he expects certain things in return for the collar around his neck. One of those things is sex. He views the relationship as a contract. Even if he says, 'No, honey, it's okay. We can wait until you're ready.' Really he means, I can wait until I can't wait anymore."

"Well _unfortunately_," I sneered, eyes flashing, "I _also_ viewed our relationship as a 'contract.' A contract in which the signatories are _people_, not a guy and a girl, not a boss and a worker, and not a jerk and a piece of ass." I stood up quickly, Paige with a sympathetic but uncertain look on her face. "I'm going to get another beer," I announced, and left for the bar.

I lost count of the number of beers I had; well, it wasn't that bad, it was just that I had either three, four, or five, and I'm not sure which of those. It was 10:30 and Marco was due to get off at 11; I wanted to get out of there before he realized I had been drinking and how much. He would never let me hear the end of it. Geez, though, it was the end of the semester and I was going through a rough time. I needed to take a freaking break and just let go for a night!

Paige didn't notice how much I was drinking either, because after my final outburst I had completely ignored her and she had left me to join Jay and his girlfriend. Man, I had thought she hated them after the mess they got Alex into. But maybe she's just better at dealing with intense dislike than I am.

I bee-lined for The Core to upload my SU elections story. When I saw that the door was open I slowed down and approached with more caution, just not prepared to deal with that intense dislike in the event that Jessie was in there. In fact the last time I had come here at night was when I caught him with Caitlin straddled across his lap.

I peered through the crack in the door. It was Jessie, but he wasn't with a girl. He was alone at his desk with a dull lamp providing some light for his slow, deliberate typing. The only time he slowed down and didn't treat life like some kind of race was when he was working on a story. He was passionate about each and every story he took on, and determined to present it in the most fair and newsworthy way.

Shaking my head to clear it of these pesky thoughts, I began to back away, but I lost my balance and nearly fell, grabbing the doorframe at only the last second and regaining my posture. But my fall had gotten Jessie's attention.

"Ellie," he said slowly, rolling across his tongue the word he had spoken so few times over the last eight months, learning its feel. "Come in."

"No. I should go."

"No, it's okay. What brings you here after being gone all week?" So he _had_ noticed I'd been gone. He got up and moved toward me, taking my arm and guiding me in. If he noticed I was pissed out of my gourd, he didn't mention it. He sat me in the chair at the desk beside his and poised himself against the corner of the desk. "So what are you doing here this late?" he repeated.

"I'm jes, just bringing in a story," I stammered. "That's what I'm here for. Ha! That's what I'm here for, get it, I mean you asked me what I'm here for and it's like when someone says 'Thanks,' and then you're like, 'That's what I'm there for,' get it."

"Ha. Yes. Nice," he responded, appraising me with his eyes.

"I mean," I continued brashly, willing my mouth to shut, "that's what I'm valued for around here, the stories I bring…I bring in, right."

"Right," he answered softly. "Typically that's what makes a good journalist."

"I'm not talking about a good…a good jour-journalish," I said, stumbling over the last word. "I'm talking about a good…girlfriend…who happens to jes be also your girlfr- I mean, journalish." What the hell was I saying?!

He looked away.

"You know what the only thing I ever wanted throughout this whole year?"

"No." He glanced back, but he didn't ask what it was.

I told him anyway. Or attempted to, through my stumbles and slurs. "All I ever wanted was to – was to _be your equal_. Not be a, a, a frosh while you're a, whatever it's called, and not jes a, a journalish while you're this big boss person thing, not jes be on howr-horoscopes at your whim jes because you obviously think I suck at writing or something, nothing else explains it, and you know, to jes not be a, a, whatever, a undervalued member of this team."

"You are a valued member of this team, Ellie."

"No, I'm talking about _this_ team. Undervalued in you-and-me. Why was it such a struggle for me to live up to this, this, this idea in your head of what I should be? Is it because you were comparing me to the girls from 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003 –"

"Okay, you're hitting my high school graduation year, Ellie," he laughed. "And no, I was never _comparing_ you to them."

"Then why'd you always have to, have to get with other girls? What was wrong with me that I wasn't good enough for you. I don' get it, I just don' get it." And I hung my head and hid my face in my hair.

Jessie repositioned himself so he was crouching before me and looking up at me. He tucked my hair behind my ear to reveal my face and I shivered at his touch. In fact, I realized at that moment that I was shivering, shaking all over, and once again was unsure if it was due to horror at the situation or desire for Jessie's body and attentiveness or a bizarre fear or maybe even a reaction to all that alcohol. At this point it was impossible to tell.

When a single tear dropped into my lap, Jessie leaned in and said, "Shh." Then he kissed me with warm, certain lips and rubbed his thumb across my cheek. "It's all right," he whispered, and just rested his lips against mine for a moment.

I pulled back just a tiny bit, and heart hammering, asked in a tiny voice, "Would you like me better if I slept with you?"

"Are you sure you _want_ me to like you better?" was his reply. "I already like you so much I have to stick my head in the mini-fridge after I look at you in order to cool down."

I couldn't help but giggle. "Yesh, I'm sure. I want you to like me lots'n'lots!" And with my hand on the back of his head I pulled him close again and kissed him with a hot tongue and a slack jaw. With a single finger he traced the neckline of my shirt before pulling away and swiftly removing my shirt, followed by his.

"This'll be better than Disneyland," he stated seriously.


	4. Good Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Author's Note to readers:_ This chapter has been edited in order to meet the requirements of the hosting website. No explicit content is permitted. It is my personal and academic opinion that the original version was written in a sensitive and professional manner. Ultimately a major aspect of character development and motivation has been lost due to this necessary self-censorship. Therefore if you would like to read the unedited version, I encourage you to contact me. I will share the original version at my own discretion through a medium unaffiliated with the host website.

_Chapter 4: Good Time_

Rolling the chair I was sitting in away from the desk quickly so I squealed and had to swallow back a little bit of puke, Jessie grabbed my wrists and pulled me to a standing position next to him and pressed his warm chest against mine. But I wasn't warm. I was still shaking and little hairs stood up in protest all over my back and arms. I shook even more when Jessie buried his face between my small breasts and undid my bra before running his hands down my sides toward my pants.

It was like it was happening in slow-motion, even though everything was going so quickly, because at every step my mind was thinking carefully. My thoughts were blurry from the beer, but my brain screamed at me non-stop anyway. If it was telling me to stop I didn't listen. But why should I? Stopping all those other times, late at night, or early morning, in my bed at home, had only ensured that time and time again those intimate moments between us had meant nothing to Jessie. If only I had sealed the deal and signed the contract on his terms back in September…how would things be different now?

We were kissing again; it was wet and heavy, and Jessie was breathing hard with his body against mine. My pants were off, underwear still intact. I felt if he removed his mouth from mine then surely my teeth would start chattering.

"Come on," he breathed, placing my hands on his jeans. I undid the button and zipper as I had done many times before in jest and joy and slyness, and wriggled them down the sides of his legs. Our eyes met briefly and I gulped. My heart was racing. He kissed me again and again and rocked his body gently against mine. As much as I enjoyed taking _pants_ off, it always scared me a little when he took his boxers off. But after a few minutes of Jessie kissing and sucking at my neck, and me running my fingernails gently against his back, I realized somewhere in my haze that maybe he was waiting for me to make the final move. I did so. Mental note: underwear no longer intact.

I bit my tongue, preparing mentally with what was left of my fuzzy mind, when Jessie turned away for a few moments. I watched him from the back, his tight butt, and heard him cough. As he turned back to me, he was smiling, but not looking into my eyes. He drew me to him. I bit my tongue harder, feeling a painful tugging.

I was silent and disturbed. _Why was I doing this?_ Why was I doing this _with Jessie?_

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whimpered. "Stop, stop, it hurts too much." I wondered if I was maybe talking about my torn and tugged-at _heart_.

For just a moment he hesitated. "Stop, please," I repeated, more urgently this time, and he pulled away from me, visibly displeased. I peered down and realized with panic that he wasn't wearing a condom.


	5. Discard

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 5: Discard_

Jessie was struggling to get dressed with a hard frown on his face, but I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest and quivering. I couldn't look over at him. For a time he didn't speak. But when he was fully dressed and making for the door, he turned and looked at me in disbelief, huddled and shaking on the floor. "What? What is it?" he demanded.

I was crying a little. "I – I don't know," I stammered. "Uh, I'm bl-bleeding."

"Well get up off the floor, for God's sake!" he cried, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. "This is the Goddamned Core, not your private powder room."

I looked at him incredulously and wiped away my tears. I couldn't reply to that, so I changed the subject quickly to something else I wanted to address. "You weren't wearing a condom?"

"Did you _see_ me put a condom on? Jesus, Ellie, I thought you were on birth control, that's all!"

"I _am_, but who knows what disease you've contracted from _Caitlin_ or nameless-faceless from last semester…or even Paige, for crying out loud!" I hated to add the last one after the way we'd been connecting – which was barely, but I still felt some loyalty to her that was in the process of transferring directly from Jessie considering the folly of this encounter.

"Okay. Ellie. I didn't sleep with Paige, okay? That girl looks like she's passing out tickets for free, but she converts you into her little _pageboy_ before you can get in to see the show."

"What? Don't talk about her like that! What? What?" My mind slowly processed his words. "So you slept with Caitlin? _And_ whatserface?"

"Come on, Ellie," he said, part angry, part bemused. "What do you expect? I mean _really?_ I gave you a job here. I gave you the best stories. I treated you with respect. I showed you a good time. And I have needs, too."

"You did _not_ treat me with respect!"

As Jessie slammed the door behind him, I still stood in the middle of the floor of The Core, completely naked.

"Ellie! Hey, El!"

I kept trudging along the dark sidewalk.

I heard Marco's runners hitting the sidewalk hard as he ran up behind me. He grabbed my shoulder from behind and then slipped his arm through mine. "So are you feeling better than earlier tonight?"

I stared straight ahead, not wanting him to notice my puffy cheeks and bloodshot eyes. But of course he did as soon as he looked over at me, intently awaiting an answer to the simple question. "Oh my God, what's wrong?"

"I can't –" But I shouldn't have opened my mouth, because the tears welled up in my eyes unabashedly when I did.

"Okay, okay, it's okay." He didn't say anything else, just kept an arm wrapped around me and walked slowly beside me.

Marco tucked me into bed quietly. He didn't ask if I'd been drinking, which I appreciated. But the situation with Jessie had sobered me up, anyway – a lot. I was exhausted, but sleep didn't come. Light poured in from the crack between the door and the carpet for a few minutes. My bed was uncomfortable. I was in my bed. _My_ bed. But the nights and days during which it had constituted mine and _Jessie's_ bed played through my mind. In some of the memories I tried to alter the endings, but no matter how powerfully I commanded my mind, the ending was always the same: Jessie slamming my bedroom door, and me lying in the – my – bed, naked.

But I wasn't naked. I was still fully clothed, and my body smelled like sex, his and mine, and my underwear was damp and twisted. At least I wasn't shaking any longer. But I was still cold.

I heard Marco and Paige exchanging words down the hallway. Talking about me, surely. Celebrity gossip. Oh, wait, I'm _not_ a celebrity like Caitlin. _Not_ a fashion princess like Paige. _Not_ a great friend like Marco.

I waited until the hallway light went out, then tiptoed to the bathroom. I let my clothes fall to the floor and stared at them in their pile for a moment before snatching up my boy-shorts and shooting them into the garbage. I buried them beneath some scrunched up tissues and stood back in semi-satisfaction. I stuck out my tongue at them, aware that this tongue had been in fervent contact with Jessie's just about an hour ago.

I started the shower, and waved my hand through the stream until it scalded. Then I stepped in. My sobs alternated between small screams and gulps.


	6. Wrapped

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 6: Wrapped_

"School is going _fine_, Mom," I said impatiently, leaning back against my pillows and crossing my legs.

"It's just, it's just you don't, you know, _talk_ about it very much, and I –"

"Well it's fine." I switched the phone from one shoulder to the other and grabbed a piece of gum from the drawer of my bedside table.

"Oh. That's fine then." She didn't press me more. "I…spoke to your father the other day."

"Uh huh." I unwrapped the gum and popped it in my mouth. When I crumpled the wrapper into a wad and tossed it toward the garbage can, it missed. I rolled my eyes at my sad skills. I was no Jimmy Brooks.

"He misses you," she wheedled. "He takes leave in August, you know. We were thinking, since you won't be in school, maybe you could quit your summer job early and the three of us could head up north together, do some nice camping. Some fishing, some biking –" She trailed off.

"Yeah, sounds real nice, Mom." _Summer job?_...oops. I should really get on that.

"You don't _sound_ very excited, Eleanor."

I spoke as if explaining to a five-year-old. "Mom, he was supposed to get leave in December, and did it happen? Not a chance. Why would it happen now?"

"Well, there's a new general coming in, as I'm sure you know, so maybe that will help. And a bunch of American troops have been brought into southern Afghanistan recently, so I'm sure they can let your father off for a mere two weeks–"

I laughed bitterly at her naïveté. "Mom, you know the facts, but you have no idea of their implications. American troops in southern Afghanistan have _nothing_ to do with Dad. He's in Kandahar now, right?"

"Well Kandahar is _in_ southern Afghanistan, I believe," she replied. But a falter in her voice indicated that she had told me that merely to persuade me, and she knew the two things weren't connected. I hadn't known that Kandahar was in the south though, either. I tried to just forget about the whole war thing and pretend that my father wasn't actually a part of my life. It wasn't hard: since he went over there he really hadn't been a part of my life.

"But camping, right Eleanor? We can do that, right?"

"Sure, whatev," I replied noncommittally, not wanting to spend any time with the fake family we were when we were together, but doubting it would happen anyway.

"So how are things with your newspaper and such?" she then asked, obviously hoping I would talk to her about _something_. I hadn't told her about the slightly botched interview with Caitlin, but lately I'd talked less about The Core than I did about school. I could give her some credit; she knew something was up; on top of that, she didn't want to pry. She just wanted to have a conversation with her daughter.

"Um, yeah, it's great. Look, Mom, I should get going. I really have to study."

"Study!" she laughed. "Oh, that's just great, sweetie. I haven't heard you talk about studying much. I thought maybe they weren't keeping you very busy over there."

"Oh, trust me, they are. It's just, there's not much to tell. Studying's studying."

"And a rose is a rose is a rose." I could hear the smile in her voice and I winced. The woman was so damned lonely. And I was cruelly giving her the brush-off. But speaking of lonely women…well I was one too. And at the moment, I kind of preferred it that way.

"Well good luck, Eleanor. Give me a call sometime, okay?"

She always said that at the end of our conversations. But I never called her. She called every few days and left messages when I wasn't there; she usually caught me about every two weeks. But since I hadn't been spending all my time at The Core lately, apparently I was an easier target. This was the second time we'd talked this week.

Wanting to mean it, I said, "Maybe I will. Thanks, Mom. Bye."

"Bye, Eleanor. I love you, sweetie."

"Yep. Bye," I said again.

After hanging up and sighing, I made my way to the kitchen. Marco was sitting at the table with a library of textbooks stacked around him and a notebook open. But he wasn't studying. He was holding his rabbit above his face and nuzzling noses with him.

"Hey, El," he greeted me, replacing Hip-Hop in his lap and stroking the soft fur. "I've barely seen you lately. This little dude has become my best friend over the last couple days without you around to keep me company."

I hadn't been to class or The Core since what I had (not-so) happily dubbed "the incident," which had occurred on Tuesday, that fateful Tuesday, and now it was Thursday. It was mid-afternoon and I was still wearing my pyjamas. But I didn't answer, just gave Marco a half-smile and plugged in the coffee-maker.

"Soo…" Placing Hip-Hop on the floor he stood up and walked toward me cautiously. "Are you…ready to talk?"

"Not really," I said shortly.

"Okay. Okay." He backed away slowly with hands raised up. "But I want you to know that I'm here…here when you need me."

"Look, Marco, I know that you don't really have much of a life right now between work at the Club and the baby –" He smiled and scooped up Hip-Hop, burying his face in his fur. "– but you really don't have to take on my life as well. You don't always have to be my guru."

His face looked hurt, but he merely said, "Well I'm sorry that I was working the other night, leaving _Paige_ to be your guru, because…it appears that didn't work out so well."

"Well, I thought that Paige knew a lot about guys, and I was right. Even after Alex, she hasn't forgotten. She told me some stuff, and she was right. It's not her fault she was freaking _right_ about guys being contract assholes. Oh, sorry, Marco, I don't consider you a guy." I squirmed, feeling none of this was coming out right. "You're…you know, my…oh damn it all, you're my guru. And I should stop talking now."

"No, please," Marco said, plopping back into his chair and shutting his notebook. "It sounds like a start."

"Oh, _man_, Marco, that was me trying to _avoid_ talking!" I took the seat beside him, listening to the coffee-maker slurp and spit. "Why don't you tell me about what's going on in _your_ life?"

"It's basically just what you said, El. Work and school. Oh, by the way, I have a bunch of Soci notes for you. There's just one more lecture, tomorrow, but you should go. The prof is pretty cool."

"Ugh…" I dropped my head and arms on to the table. "That's _one_ thing that's on my mind – school, Soci, exams. Okay, so three things. When's our exam again?"

"Next Friday. You gonna be ready?"

"Not even a little bit," I groaned. "Thanks for taking the notes, Marco. I'm sure they'll be helpful when I'm _cramming_ the night before."

"No, no, no. We'll do an intesive study session this weekend. And then Saved by the Bell at night to relax."

"Aren't you working?"

"Not on Saturday night. Tomorrow shift from three to eleven again and working a short shift Sunday evening. So I'm yours this weekend."

"Thanks…I think. Haven't heard you say that for _several_ years."

"El, I don't even think I said it while we were 'dating.' "

I grinned, and felt myself relax a bit.

Marco picked up on it immediately. "I'm yours right now, too, El. Talk to me."

But I stood up and wandered back to the counter to watch the coffee pot slowly fill. "I should let you get back to studying," I said, and didn't turn around again before leaving the kitchen.


	7. The Gaze

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 7: The Gaze_

"Now this is a sociology class, right? What does sociology mean again?"

A few people half-heartedly mumbled something about studying society and people, behaviour.

"That's right. So I'm standing up here, and you're sitting in this giant lecture theatre, all staring at me. How can I possibly deal with such intense pressure? Well, I stare back. Do you think I just stood up here all semester lecturing to a nameless sea of faces?"

"Yeah, pretty much," someone called.

"Well you're right. But I'm a sociologist, remember. At least that's one of the things I am. So what do you think I get out of standing up here delivering a dull lecture?"

"Moola!" the same guy cried.

The prof laughed. "Barely. I'm not a tenured professor, I'm a sessional instructor! Look, the fact is, I don't get much out of these sessions with 250 nameless faces. So I make it a game. While I'm standing up here delivering that dull lecture, know what else I'm doing?"

"Do we even wanna know?"

"Okay, I have _got_ to stop pausing after asking those rhetorical questions!" she chided herself jokingly. "I'm up here staring back at you, drinking it all in. And I make mental notes. The most interesting thing about my job is reading not boring textbooks, not the latest interdepartmental memo, not the notes from a peer-review on an article draft, but the classroom. Reading the classroom. Reading all of you. _So_…since this is a sociology _class_, I figured that on the last day I would share with you some of my findings." She clicked on a powerpoint presentation. "I gotta say, you guys are just great. I've learned so much from you this semester, so thank you. Really. With my workload, teaching three courses each semester just to scrape by, I barely have time to do any research. So it's damned lucky that I can conduct research while I'm teaching.

"Okay. So…one thing that I've noticed is –" She had walked forward and away from the lectern and was grinning, but staring hard at the guy who had spoken up before, "– I rarely get a serious answer to a question that I ask in a lecture theatre. On the other hand, when I teach in a smaller classroom, I do. It still takes some prodding, but isn't that kind of weird? It's the nature of this set-up, though. Look, even the way the lighting is, with dimmed lighting over all of you, a brighter light on me, and dark behind me on the projection screen. The room is set up as though I, in the position of authority, am supposed to lead you, the ignorant, out of the dark and into the light. With you all treated with so little respect, why would you even both to answer a question seriously? You came here to get answers from me, not from each other.

"And think about what that does to your relationships with one another! You begin to regard each other with suspicion, even with dislike. Or more probably, with simple apathy. Erm, I'm getting a bit off track here." She moved back to the lectern and started the powerpoint presentation. "So! Attendance on Fridays. It's crap." The crowd tittered as she motioned around the room. "Did I say 250 students earlier? Because I meant 80. But especially at this time of the year, you're getting down to the wire, you have studying to do for next week's exams, and going to one more lecture is just way too much work. I agree with those 170 people. And as for the typical Friday, who _doesn't_ want a three-day weekend? It's a trade-off. Sacrificing one thing for another, and hopefully it's insanity for sanity. Or is sanity really what we're searching for? In a university setting, surely it is. The darkness to the light, remember. That's what I'm here for."

I couldn't pick up if this prof was being sarcastic or blatantly honest or somehow a mix of both.

Someone in the third row raised their hand in the air promptly when she paused to take a drink.

"Yes."

"If that's what you're here for, why aren't you doing it? Our exam is next week. I thought this last lecture would be exam review. In fact that's what it says on the syllabus. And a syllabus is a legally-binding contract."

Ouch. I saw the prof's face crumple momentarily with this girl apparently out to stir up trouble. And now that she had told the remaining 79 of us, someone else was bound to get riled.

Without skipping a beat, the prof closed her powerpoint presentation and opened another.

"Durkheim and Weber," she stated calmly. "I hope you have all had intimate sessions with these two this semester." Her eyes swept the room, then fastened on to the third row. "They _will_ be on the test."


	8. Numb

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Author's Note to readers:_ This chapter has been edited in order to meet the requirements of the hosting website. No explicit content is permitted. It is my personal and academic opinion that the original version was written in a sensitive and professional manner. Ultimately a major aspect of character development and motivation has been lost due to this necessary self-censorship. Therefore if you would like to read the unedited version, I encourage you to contact me. I will share the original version at my own discretion through a medium unaffiliated with the host website.

_Chapter 8: Numb_

By the end of the fifty-minute period, the prof had gone through the entire exam review without a hitch, despite the fact that she had used up at least fifteen minutes at the beginning of the lecture to talk about lighting and shit. It was impressive. But I had lost track around the fourth slide and surrendered my pen and notebook back into my bag.

As everyone was packing up their stuff itchily during the last two minutes, she declared, "_All_ the material from today is fair game for the exam, so catch up your friends who couldn't make it today. Good luck."

"I pity the fools!" Marco said as we left the lecture theatre. "That was interesting, no?"

I wrinkled my nose. "It was weird. I mean, I get it, we're people, and she studied us while we innocently thought she was just telling us about Turkey-hind and Flavour…"

"Durkheim and Weber, El."

"Yeah, whatev. But like, was she trying to get into our heads? I mean, I'm not mad like that one chick was, but seriously, I wouldn't have minded being in that 170 people who skipped."

"Well I got all the notes down again, so you can _pretend_ you skipped. I'll add them to the pile on the kitchen table. Actually, you take them." He thrust his notebook into my hands. "I've gotta get to work. But I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, for Ellie and Marco's Studying Extravaganza?"

"Sure, Marco."

Paige and Griffin weren't around back at the house. I went straight to the bathroom and locked the door, then sank to the floor with my back against the door. I tugged at the long sleeves of my shirt, trying to roll them back, but the material was too stiff. Breath coming fast, I gripped it at the collar and ripped the shirt open. A tiny gold button hit the floor with a ping and bounced behind the toilet. I ignored it, and hurried to shrug the shirt off of me. The urgency with which I moved reminded me of Jessie. Chasing down a story, bossing around the team, having sex. Urgent, always urgent…except, I recalled, when writing...

My shirt was off, flung over the wall of the tub. I turned over my left arm. They were still there – the scars. With my right thumb, I traced them slowly, from my wrist to my elbow, caressing the ridges with a mixture of nostalgia and disgust. When I had gone over them all multiple times and my breathing had slowed, I ran my right forearm across my forehead, back and forth, feeling the raised skin from my arm tickling against the skin of my face. But the scars were numb. They felt nothing, not a caress from my finger, and not a confused nudge from my forehead. They felt no joy, no love, no pain.

My forearms were labyrinths. I entered them when the labyrinth of my mind chased me through its frozen corridors and I slipped on the slick icy ground, lost balance, control, and slid toward the edge, where millions of sharp pointy ice-swords miles below lay in wait for my fall, for the moment when finally they'd pierce me…

When the pain inside had become too much to bear, I would let it out, cut it out, let it flow with the blood. My father left me; I cut, and the pain left me too. My mother alienated me; I cut, and I alienated the pain in a realm outside myself. And when the cuts healed, they felt nothing. _I want to feel no pain…I want to be a scar…_

I imagined my entire body as a scar, built up of scar upon scar upon scar, woven and criss-crossing over every inch of my skin, my head a tough silken orb, floating on the sea of satisfied, paralyzed flesh that was the rest of my body. Then I would feel nothing. Then I would be numb. Nothing could hurt me. _Invincible_. _Untouchable_. _Free_…

I heaved my body toward the tub and reached out, closer, closer, till I had my razor in my fingertips. I turned the cold tap all the way and let the water whoosh into the tub for a moment before leaning over and entombing my head in its frosty flow. The wall of the tub was pressing hard against my breasts. I brought the razor into the flow above my head and hesitantly lowered it to my hair. Shiver. The pain. Take control of the pain. I dug the razor through the barrier of my hair hard into my scalp and drew it backward. The burning perfectly counteracted the cold of the water over my head. As I shifted to pull the hairs out of my razor, my head met with the faucet and water leaked into my mouth and nose and I coughed as though recovering from drowning, half of me struggling to stay afloat while the other half whispered for me to succumb to the cool, smooth bed of the deep pool beneath me. I felt a deep burning in my head again, from my forehead to the back of my neck, again and again, all over it burned, while the water delivered its consistent drive and I gulped when I remembered to for pockets of air and the contradiction between the heat and the freeze made me tremble while deep inside me where Jessie had been it seemed the walls were collapsing all around me, the labyrinth was crumbling and I had nowhere to run but to the edge, the edge, the razor's edge…

I crawled into the tub with the gobs of wet red hair and climbed out of my pants. Then I lay back in the tub and stared blankly at the ceiling as the cold water rushed over my feet and legs.

After a few minutes of silence and stillness, the door handle jiggled. "Ellie, are you in there?" It was Paige's voice. "The water has been running since I got home. I hope it's not flooding."

I couldn't acknowledge her at first. I stared at the ice flow before me, at the razor blade trembling on the edge of the drain.

"Ellie?"

Pause.

"Oh sorry, yeah, Paige, just drawing a bath. I…had a long day."

"Of course you did, but not as long as mine. I have to tell you all about it, so hurry up your cute behind in there."

I sputtered, spraying stray drops of water out of my mouth and nose. My legs and torso, shivering terribly, were a frighteningly bright red from the freezing water. Or was the red just from the strands of hair that were wrapped around my thighs, wrapped around the razor's body, and clumping in the drain? I put a hand to my head and felt its stark nakedness. Running my hand over the wet and rutted pathways I had blazed with the razor, I realized that at a space toward the back an entire patch of flesh a few centimetres across was hanging loosely away from my scalp, and warm blood was fermenting there where my skull was trying to break free.

Slowly, because I could barely move, I leaned forward to cut off the water. I laid back again then, and just shook violently, my whole body. Why was I shaking? The cold, the shock, the confusion? But it was none of these. For I had achieved that numbness.


	9. Gone

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 9: Gone_

"Okay, hon, that's enough single R&R! It's time for a date with Paige!"

My body had yet to thaw, but feeling was starting to return in my mind and my heart. And it was anger that prevailed. Paige was an easy target, but she wasn't completely beyond guilty either.

"Stop trying to be my friend!" I screamed. "I've never liked you and I never will!"

"Well excuse me for living, Ellie Nash. I won't step into your precious bubble again. She didn't scream back, just spoke in that shrill tone of hers. "If you ever do decide to acknowledge my existence again, it's completely up to you to make the effort." Her footsteps retreated.

It was then I tasted blood. I gingerly felt for the gash on my head and when I brought my hand down I saw that it was entirely velvety red. _Let out the pain…_

My head was throbbing. I slowly hoisted myself to a sitting position. I groaned. I was weak. It took a few minutes to overcome a strange icy headrush before I could stand. Being careful not to slip, I climbed out of the tub and took my towel off the rack, wrapping it tightly around me. My teeth were chattering. I recalled thinking to myself when I was with Jessie that my teeth would chatter if we stopped kissing. Maybe that kiss had finally ended.

Vaguely aware I was an utter mess, I padded down the hallway to Paige's bedroom and walked in without knocking. She was on her bed reading a magazine. I stood quietly, waiting for her to look up. It took all the effort I could muster to be in her space after the horrible things I had said, but quite honestly, I was afraid to be alone right now.

Not looking up, Page said, "Well, hon, I hope you've come to grovel. Few people have yelled at me like that and survived to apologize."

She tore her eyes from the slick New York fashions she was admiring and in the same moment was on her feet, beside me, arms around me. As she rubbed my back through the towel she didn't hide her concern, or her distaste. "I'm…I'm shocked. My God, what _happened_ to you?" She grabbed her fuzzy pink housecoat and wrapped it around my shoulders. "Put this on. I'll be back in a jiffy."

I obeyed, letting my towel fall and then stooping to wipe the water droplets off my frozen legs. As I started to stand up again, I began to sway faintly, but Paige was already there with her arm around me, leading me to the edge of her bed.

"You've lost a lot of blood," she observed. "I wonder if you should go to the hospital."

"No. No. No hospital." I hated those places.

"No one asked you," Paige informed me, pressing a warm, wet cloth against the cut on my head. She let it mop up some of the blood, then used the other, clean side to wipe my face, tear-stained and also bloody. As she gently taped a square piece of thick gauze over the wound, she said off-handedly, "I see hell made a pit-stop in our washroom."

She then manoeuvered me so I was lying down, put a fluffy pillow under my head, and covered me with a big soft blanket. "And let's not forget those feet…which are…kind of purplish," she stated, as she pulled arm winter socks on to my feet.

"Now I'm going to go clean up the bathroom before Griffin and Marco get home. And then I think you need an actual bath; get cleaned up before you sleep." Paige hurried out of the room and I shut my eyes tight.

This was all wrong. I was supposed to be studying tonight. I should be reading that crazy Soci textbook. I should be sipping a latte. Hanging out with Jessie at The Core.

It didn't feel wrong, though, to be far away from all that, even if my safe haven was in Paige Michalchuk's bed. Here, in this very frilly yet fashionable, neat yet lived-in room I was so far away from myself that I momentarily had nothing to hate myself for. Somehow this room wanted me, it held me strongly yet gently in this housecoat, blanket, and socks, and it had no expectations of me, no contract, no exam, no cunning tricks, just utter, sincere _care_.

I came in here tonight because I knew I needed help and it was the only place to go. Why had I never come in here before? Why hadn't I asked for help sooner?

Paige returned after awhile and ushered me to the bathroom. "You're freezing!" she exclaimed. "I drew you a hot bubble bath. You can get in, but I'm staying. I won't look! I just don't trust you right now."

Leaving the socks and housecoat in a pile on the floor, I hesitantly slipped into the bath and pulled the curtain closed. Paige sat on the closed toilet lid and chattered on about her long day, filled with mini-crises over the details of her upcoming trip. Every so often she would say, "Isn't that awful?" and pause deliberately to hear my reply. Apparently she was worried I might drown myself.

I noted that my razor was gone, as was Paige's.


	10. Airing

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 10: Airing_

"I'm…Ellie. I'm a cutter. I…kind of had a relapse last night."

"Hi, Ellie. Why don't you tell us about your relapse."

"Well…I don't know if it's really a relapse." I pulled my sleeves down further and held them against my palms with my fingers. "I used to cut my wrists. My arms, too. Last night I…cut my head. I…don't think I meant to. I was shaving off my hair. But I ended up with an elephant-sized knick in my skull."

"Why did you decide to shave your head?" It was a younger boy named Johnny who had been coming the last month or so.

"I…don't know. It wasn't something I planned. I just came home from school and went into the bathroom and did it…I mean, I was thinking first about my arms, and all the scars on them, and I felt like I wanted my body to be a scar. Because then I would be numb."

"So you didn't want to feel anything?" the counsellor translated.

"Yeah. I guess I've been feeling a lot of pain lately, and I wanted to let it out like I used to. There's something else, too…I thought about cutting myself…somewhere else, too. I had so much pain inside, I wanted to cut myself up from the inside…"

Johnny twitched.

"Can you talk about the source of the pain you've been feeling?" asked the counsellor.

"It's stupid really," I said nervously. "I mean, I, I had some relationship stuff, well I mean I, I had sex for the first time, and it wasn't really a good time, I guess." I gulped. "It really kind of made me feel bad about myself."

"Why did it make you feel bad?"

"I…I dunno." I couldn't say anymore. I felt really stupid. Why was this sex thing such a big deal?

"That happened to me, too," Johnny piped up. "I had sex, and yeah, it made me feel all bad and stuff."

"Why do you think that is?" the counsellor asked him.

"No freaking idea," he replied non-chalantly, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. He must be making fun of me…he must be. Bastard.

After the session the counsellor asked me to stay behind and chat for a few.

"I don't want to get all Dr. Phil on you, El, but this relapse thing sounds serious. You've displaced the cutting from your arms to other parts of your body. I know you've got a lot going on right now with exams coming up and all…is there someone you can talk to if you need a friend until next week?"

I usually liked him and couldn't stand that he was being so condescending about this. I knew I shouldn't have come today. I should just deal, on my own. "You mean is there someone who can surveil me 24/7," I said suspiciously. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I have three roommates who love to know every detail of my personal life."

He sighed. "Don't be mad at me, Ellie. Look, call me at home if you need someone to talk to. Anytime, okay?"

I stared at him steadily for a cool moment before walking away. I didn't need another person "concerned" about me. Yesterday in the heat of the moment of everything, I needed someone to care about me. But Paige had become overbearing. Already three times this morning she had come into my room asking if she could get me anything and bringing me hot chocolate and the newspaper without being asked. "What are you, my puppy-dog?" I asked her when she brought the latter.

"It's called being a friend, Ellie," she replied, and shut the door quietly behind her.

Outside, Johnny was leaning against the brick wall, smoking.

"Nice 'do," he commented without removing the cig from between his lips.

"We make a nice pair, now," I stated. "Me with the bald head and you with the goldilocks – gender-bending galore."

He didn't rise to my intended insult, and instead played along. "I think I've even got a few scrapes and bruises on the ol' noggin that might match your elephant-sized knick."

I frowned. I had no patience for this guy – first, making fun of me about something I was incredibly confused about and which he obviously knew nothing about, and now, trying to be my friend as soon as we're out of the building. "Where do you get off," I said angrily, "poking fun at the things I say in there? It's supposed to be a _safe space_ where we don't judge each other. No one even knew what you were doing except me. That's cruel and unusual."

"No, it's pretty usual," he answered, putting his face in mine. "It's life, _Eleanor_."

"Argh!" I cried. "Why did you even come today if all you were going to do is be a shit-head? Oh God, why did _I_ even come today? I knew I shouldn't have. I have no answers. I don't know what the hell is _wrong_ with me!" I stamped my foot on the ground and paced back and forth, breathing hard.

"It's not you," he said simply, throwing down his cigarette butt and dampening it with his toe. He looked at me intently with a cocked head. "Did he do it right?"

I regarded him with distrust. "Did who do what right?"

"_Him_. The guy you did it with. Did he do it right?"

"_I_ don't know. I – waitaminute, waitaminute. Why would I tell you after the way you humiliated me in there?"

"I don't know, why would you. You're the one who's standing here talking to me of your own free will."

"Well feel free to watch me walk away," I returned, stalking off without another glance into his ugly face.


	11. Provoked

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 11: Provoked _

"It's not a bad look for you," Marco commented as I pulled the door shut behind me. He was referring to my hair, or lack thereof. "I kind of like it – a return to your olden golden goth days."

"Yeah, thanks," I said hastily, rushing past him towards the stairs.

"Hey, uh –" Marco held up our Sociology textbook. "Studying, remember? Or are you an olden golden drop-out now?"

"No, hon, that's me," said Paige as she swept through the room with a pile of shirts over her arm. She addressed me: "I highly recommend it! It tends to get you hot week-long trips to…that's right, New York." And she disappeared up the stairs.

"Later, Marco, I promise." But I knew as I followed Paige up the stairs that later wouldn't come today, and probably wouldn't come tomorrow either. I was terrified that he would want to "talk." And I was so confused about what was going on inside of me that I couldn't stand having to answer to someone else.

What I needed was a plan. A Plan. A Plan-with-a-capital-P. A…Plizzan. What do I really want?, I asked myself. All I had wanted throughout the entire school year had been Jessie- and Core-related, and I had thrown that all away, not to mention that I had flung myself into the trash bin along with it. But my desire to be a part of The Core had preceded my Jessie days. The reason I had even met him was because I had taken my Amberley-invective to The Core with stars in my eyes. But I had not had just stars in my eyes – I had had confidence. Spunk. Dignity.

That's what I wanted: I wanted that dignity back. Didn't I deserve that much? But how could I get it? I sat at my desk, as if settling to set out a brilliant story, and puzzled out the details. What's the cause of dignity? Hm…it was easier to figure out what the cause of _losing_ dignity was. Six-letter word, starts with J, rhymes with "Messy"…

Okay. Part of what that dignity had come from was _not_ knowing Jessie. So somehow I had to erase him from my mind. That made my desire to be a part of The Core very difficult, however. Especially since Jessie was lined up to do his Master's next year and had been nominated to continue his position of editor. There was no way I could avoid him next year. Assuming I made it to next year…

I brushed away that dark thought, but in the pit of my stomach I was perturbed. Last night, I had lost control. Whenever I cut before, it was because I was taking back control. Taking back my dignity. Still, when I did it, it was like I became disconnected from my body. I almost laughed at myself in my mind, told myself, this is so weird! But I simply stared down at my wrist and relished the sight of the blood. I let myself keep going. I _made_ myself keep going. And at the same time, it's like it happened without me really controlling it.

And last night was no different. I had vaguely thought how strange I must look. If I were Paige and had encountered unprovoked screaming not to mention a tub smeared with blood and clumps of long red hair, I would have reacted with anything but her calm. Yet I kept at it. At the time it felt like the only thing _to_ do. And again, it was completely unprovoked. I had spent the previous hour in class, I had just parted with my best friend Marco. Everything was normal. He was off to work and I was headed home to study.

But no, life's not like that. There's always a darkness inside to contend with, a darkness that is only mirrored by the taunts of the untouched textbooks and the melodramatic sexual encounters, the hole of an absent father, the hole of a bottled mother…and, the scars on my wrists and my arms.

So in a sense, it was perfectly normal for me to lock myself in the bathroom and enact the violence of that darkness. No one else around…no one else to patronize me, to lock me into unwanted contracts, to interpret my own life for me. I could finally do it all to myself. The violence, the condescension, the indifference, the anger, the judgment, the interpretation, the creation…and, the absence. I was in control of all these things. I owned them. They were mine.

Last night was the beginning of me taking it all back.

I rubbed my sore, yet satisfyingly smooth head.

I might be no one. But "no one" was going to control me. I, no one, was taking it all back.


	12. Making News

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 12: Making News_

On Monday morning I put on the cutest, most professional outfit I had, which included a small black vest over a long-sleeved white blouse with a V-neck and a short black skirt, and finally, a smart black fedora. Armed with a resume which I had reconfigured and revised and spell- and grammar-checked twenty times, and what had come to be the familiar latte, I hopped a train and headed downtown.

While Marco studied and Paige raced around packing, I had spent Sunday in my room researching all the newspapers in Toronto, and had come across two which accepted summer interns. For one of them, the deadline for application had long since passed, but the other, which incredibly was the bigger name of the two, had extended their application deadline to May 1st as they had not yet come across enough interns of the right fit.

Before entering the tall, intimidating building which housed the headquarters of the paper, I ditched the tourists' map of Toronto which I had brought with me. I didn't come downtown very often, and I wanted to make very sure that I would find the right place. I wasn't going to let the labyrinth of streets, avenues, and towers mislead me. But nor was I about to walk into my future with a map, looking like a dolt who didn't know what I was doing. If I wanted that self-confidence back, I would have to act it.

In the front of the office, I flashed a smile to the receptionist, who was flawlessly made up and was wearing a revealing, low-cut blouse. She didn't frighten me. "I have an important document for Mr. Hanna," I announced, holding up the yellow envelope in which I had enclosed my resume and cover letter, which detailed my "extensive experience" at The Core and through my Journalism course. I had purposely left out mention of my Degrassi days. I had agonized over whether to include it or not, but ultimately decided that someone at a major national newspaper would see that as kid stuff.

The receptionist reached out for the envelope with her long, shimmery nails. "Thanks, I'll see that he gets it."

"I'd like to give it to him myself," I answered. I glanced around the office critically. "Is Mr. Hanna in at the moment?"

She gave me an odd look, but picked up her phone receiver anyhow. "I'll see if he has a moment," she replied. Then, into the phone, "Potential intern to see you. No, she doesn't have an appointment. Just a few minutes, she says."

I swallowed hard. I had been frighteningly forward without skipping a beat, maybe had been even a little bit rude, and still she was trying to get me in.

She hung up. "Mr. Hanna will see you. Just sit down for a moment and he'll be out when he can."

I nodded and tried to find my voice to thank her, but my throat was dry. I sat on the leather sofa beside a tiffany lamp and under a framed poster of the Toronto skyline at sunset. I had sounded pretty stupid, hadn't I? Between "extensive experience" and "important document," I was less self-confident at the moment than I was self-deprecating. I was here to sell myself…but I kind of felt like doing that made me into a product, not a person.

Waiting for just a few minutes was hellish. I gripped my knees, which were itchy from the sheer stockings I was wearing, and willed myself to sit still. When I saw out of the corner of my eye the man who must be Mr. Hanna enter the room to my right, I moved my head a bit to the left, pretending to look around as if I hadn't noticed. But it was increasingly difficult as ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed, and he gave me no reason to look over.

"Hello," he finally said, deeply. I quickly looked over, feigning polite surprise. I rose. "You must be –"

"Ellie Nash," I replied, offering forth my hand. I could do this. I _had to_.

"Eleanor," he said wistfully, closing his eyes as he took my hand not to shake it but to guide me toward his office. "I really love that name…" I was a little taken aback, but followed unquestioningly.

As I left the reception area, the receptionist gave me an encouraging smile. I smiled back timidly. Suddenly she _did_ frighten me a bit, but only because she was so nice.

In Mr. Hanna's office, which was the size of my bedroom and also filled with leather furniture, he motioned for me to sit on a sofa similar to the one in the waiting room. He leaned against a matching leather chair across from me. "So you're interested in an intern position, Eleanor?"

"_Very_ interested, Mr. Hanna," I confirmed. "Journalism is my life. I'm currently working on a journalism degree, but most of my time goes to work at The Core, where I'm a junior journalist."

"Fifth-largest paper in Toronto," he mused. "Very good, very good. Well, we might just have a place for you, Eleanor."

"Really?" I was taken aback once again. We had barely started speaking, and I hadn't yet given him my resume. "Don't you want to see my resume?" I held out the envelope.

He took it, but didn't look at it. "I'll take a look, hm? And I'll call you later this afternoon." He walked away towards his desk and took a seat there, looking intently at his computer screen.

What was I supposed to do? I stood quickly. "Uh, thank you…for meeting with me, I mean."

He nodded, but without looking up. But just as I was reaching for the door handle, eager to make my escape from this awkward room, Mr. Hanna glanced my way. "I do wish you would let me see those pretty eyes, Eleanor." He smiled thinly.

I tried to smile and readjusted my hat. I could feel in my eyes apprehension.

His smile continued as his eyes examined me from my black ballerina slippers up my legs and torso finally to my face – and then froze. "I know that face," he muttered, tapping his fingers against the desk.

Supremely uncomfortable now, I began to open the door, but a shake of the head from him stopped me.

"Eleanor Nash," he repeated in disbelief. "I thought I knew that name. You're the one who outed Caitlin Ryan's sex life."

I bit my lip and awaited his reaction. My heart was thudding. Did that teeny tiny part of me really have to follow me _here_, into my _future?_

Without wasting a second, he pulled a file up on his computer's flatscreen, and turned it toward me. My stomach turned. It was a photo of me stomping off stage while Caitlin sat bewildered, and it was accompanied by a full-blown story about Caitlin's visit and my fireworks. "It was sure a great capture for a _junior reporter_ at _our_ newspaper," he said. I winced at the biting emphasis he placed on those words. "Unfortunately" – and for a moment a longing look in his eyes seemed to project his own belief that what was coming truly was unfortunate – "we look for interns who _cover_ news, not _make_ it." He examined me once more, this time top to bottom. Then he said, "You can go now."

I left hastily. Outside his office I paused and gazed out the windows to the street far below. It couldn't have gone much worse if he had thrown me out on my ass…which was pretty much how I felt just about now. As small and unimportant as those people wandering in the streets way down there. Insignificant. No one. Once again, no one. Or _still_…no one.

In the reception area, I avoided the receptionist's eyes.

As I hurried out the door, she said sincerely, "I hope to see you again, Ellie."


	13. Distrust

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 13: Distrust_

"Sorry, El, but the Campus Club is letting me go over the summer. They're just not busy enough to keep us all." Marco shook his head sadly. "I guess I can work with Pa at the shop, but I'd like to have something that's closer to home. Here, I mean."

I sighed. I had had no trouble recounting my encounter with the honourable Mr. Hanna to Marco. It was a bizarre experience that left me feeling even more empty inside, yet at the same time it made things seem normal again, like one of those "My life sucks" stories that is less serious than it is a tale to bond over. And now the reality of me needing to find a summer job was hitting. There was no tuition over the summer, but there sure was rent…and food, and maybe the occasional movie rental or drink at the pub. I was beginning to understand the meaning of "poor university student." Luckily, I at least had scholarships from my dad being in the military – makes sense, I guess. The government wants to be all, "Sorry we took away your daddy. Hope you can still pull together some semblance of a life back home in Canada. You do want to make him proud, don't you?" Thanks, Stephen Harper (A/N: current prime minister of Canada).

"I just lost a shot at my dream job – or, at least, a really valuable experience," I mused. "But the way that Mr. Hanna treated me I don't think I would've wanted the job. I don't even know if he was _actually_ going to call me, or if he was just trying to get rid of me as quickly as possible. I mean, why would he say they had a place for me when he barely met me?"

"Maybe you just _exude_ that reporter air," Marco suggested.

"Or maybe I'm just a hot chick," I moped. "He kept…_looking_ at me. And calling me Eleanor."

Marco gasped. "He called you by your _name?_ The _scoundrel!_"

I gave Marco a look. "But I told him my name was Ellie. Oh well…I don't have the time or energy to think about that anymore…what are we going to do for summer jobs?"

"Maybe we could be Paige's assistants and get free trips to New York."

"Sign me up," I said sarcastically. "Not that I wouldn't mind going to New York, but not as an assistant to an assistant, and certainly not as a fashionista."

"But why not? You kind of look like a fashionista the way you're dressed today," Marco remarked.

I grimaced. "You think so?"

"A fashionista for the professional world," he amended.

"Yeah…" I thought about the way the receptionist had been dressed. I wondered if Mr. Hanna made her wear skimpy shirts. Or if she did it because it was the only way she could calm him down, or get her own way, or get out of trouble. The only way she could control him. I shivered.

"What is it?" Marco asked.

I frowned. The look on his face was a bit _too_ concerned for my comfort.

"I'm _okay_, Marco," I insisted. "Just thinking about the newspaper dude again."

"Maybe all newspaper dudes are assholes," he said cautiously, obviously fishing about Jessie.

Oh, no. I wasn't about to fall into that trap. "_Eric_ certainly isn't," I pointed out. "Does he get to keep his job at the Club?"

Marco nodded. "Blasted seniority." He laughed. "Nah, I wouldn't want to see him in our boat. Because you're right, he is a super nice guy. Just not my type."

"Oh really, Marco, well what _is_ your 'type'?" The word "type" bothered me somewhat…

"I don't think I've found him yet," was his simple reply.

"I think I was Jessie's type," I said bitterly, sounding the words out slowly, somewhat afraid to speak. Afraid I would have to relive…what? The humiliation? The desire? The weakness? "I was young and vulnerable. He had this pattern, right, an eager first-year every year. It never would've lasted past summer! Because guess what: that's right, next year I'll be in second-year. _And_, thanks to Jessie, I'll be a hell of a lot less vulnerable. I don't think I'll ever trust anyone again!"

I was breathing hard. Marco was quiet. I realized how much that last bit had been affecting my life recently, how I had been shutting everyone out, even my dearest friend. Jessie had hurt me so badly when I _trusted_ him that I figured now I was worth nothing to anyone. So why should I trust anyone? Least of all…myself. For I was the one who was carrying on the legacy of mistrust he had planted in me. I had subconsciously been second-guessing everything about myself. Was there something wrong with me? Did I "do it right," as that creep Johnny had put it on Saturday? Was I ever a good reporter or did Jessie keep me around The Core just so he could have his little frosh lap-dog? And for that matter, had I sacrificed my role as good reporter by sleeping with the enemy…er, the boss? By striving primarily for his approval? What was it about me that made Jessie cheat on me? Was it the way I looked? The way I dressed? Did it get him off to take advantage of my vulnerability? My glowing, trusting, frosh-eyes?

"I'm not just a stupid frosh!" I spat. But that didn't convince me. And at the rate I was going I would still be a frosh next year if I didn't pass my exams. Even if I did, wouldn't I still have that frosh naïveté? Or how about that _sixth-grader_ naïveté? Considering, for instance, that I couldn't even have sex without having a monster freak-out session.

I slammed closed the cover of the book I had been poring through and got up from the dining table. "I can't do this right now."

"But we've only been at it for a couple hours," Marco protested. "The Soci exam is on Friday, and you've barely touched it!"

"Don't remind me," I replied huffily, and left the room.

In my bedroom I paced back and forth attempting to calm down and focus. Marco was right. My Soci exam was on Friday, and it was only the first of five exams over the week that would follow. _Plus_ we were a little stumped on where to find a half-decent summer job.

I stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the room, attempting to even out my breathing. Breathing in, I looked up at the ceiling, then breathing out, I looked down at the floor.

The newspaper Paige had brought me on Saturday morning was lying at my feet. I stooped to pick it up. I rolled my eyes when I realized it was none other than Mr. Hanna's paper. Gag me.

I flipped it over, intending to check which section held the personal ads, which were a gas to read. All those poor, desperate souls searching for love. I wished them the best – _not_. Okay, so maybe it was better to not read them when I was so bitter.

But I didn't get a chance anyway. My eyes were immediately drawn to a photo of a coffin covered solemnly with a Canadian flag with a plane in the background and a shroud of mostly men and a few women in camouflage fatigues surrounding it. I bit down hard on my tongue. Of course it wasn't Dad…it couldn't be.

_But it easily _could _be._

I scanned the article for details. _With the death of Angie LeBeau, 24, the total Canadian casualties since the mission began in 2002 rises to 83. LeBeau is the second Canadian woman soldier to give her life for –_

I looked at the picture again. So there was a woman in that coffin, but a young woman, practically a girl, like me. 83 Canadians killed? Some "peace-keeping" mission.

I noticed then that my dad was amongst the soldiers paying their respects to Angie LeBeau. "So you're okay, Dad," I murmured, running my finger over his face, which was quiet, hard. "I wish you could come home and be safe."

But the article also stated that the mission had recently been extended by a vote in the House of Commons from 2009 to 2011. I snorted. Yet another breach of trust.


	14. Avoidance

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 14: Avoidance_

The house was a lot quieter with Paige gone. And Griffin was studying for his Engg exams, so there were no parties to contend with.

One would _presume_ that one would be able to get some decent studying done when one's house is quiet, but if one were me then one would be wrong.

By Wednesday I had finished reading the Soci textbook and copying out the notes Marco had taken during the lectures I had missed. I had also gone through my notes for Anthropology and Ecology and prepped for my journalism examination, all of which would be the following week. The problem was that even though I had gotten a lot of work done, it wasn't exactly _productive_ work. I would sit down to read and go through ten pages before I realized that I couldn't remember any of it – my mind had been wandering heinously. Marco suggested that I put a tick on a piece of paper for every time I caught myself daydreaming so that I would start to realize it faster and get back to work. But I just ended up with a paper full of ticks.

"The word 'daydreaming' is optimistic," I told Marco dryly. "I prefer to call it 'day-nightmaring.' "

"Day-maring?" he offered.

Journalism was the only one I felt really good about, as we had free reign to write an article on a topic of our choice, with a list of certain limitations and requirements. For instance, the prof might ask that we include mock interview quotes but that we exclude any political references. "As reporters, we need to be as objective as possible," he had stated. "That means we strive to understand and include both sides of the story, even if we don't agree with it."

He had also said, "Opinion pieces are called 'editorials.' Informative pieces are called 'front-page news.' " After that I had tried to resist my urge to weave my opinion into Core articles. After all, it was my not-so-humble opinions that had gotten me kicked out of rez.

Marco and I spent Thursday quizzing each other on Durkheim and Weber and social deviancy and statistical methods of sociology. Or, more accurately, Marco quizzed _me_. I barely knew enough to ask him questions. Still, his persistence ensured that by evening I felt I knew enough to reasonably guess an option besides the random "C" on the multiple choice, and enough to fudge my way through an essay question.

After Marco headed out the door to one of his last days of work at the Club, and I was leafing through the Soci textbook, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver and checked the ID. I sighed – it was Mom. I let it ring twice more before pressing the "Talk" button.

"Hi, Mom, I can't really talk right now, I'm stud –"

"Eleanor, we are going to talk."

I flinched. Her voice was hard, harsh.

I tried again. "Mom, I'm studying. I can only talk for a few –"

"You're just like your father!" she rasped. " 'Caroline, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I have to go…do something more important than talking to my _own wife_ to whom I said _till death do us part_ but did death do us part? No, Caroline, Afgh-_Afghanistan_ did us part. A stupid, sickly, barren country that no one gives a damn about, so they assign Canada, the naïve, petty, people-pleaser country to go play Lego for a decade, maybe kill a few terrorists, because _really_, we have nothing better to do!' "

I swallowed hard, holding the phone a couple centimetres away from my ear. What was she _talking_ about? None of it made sense. Or maybe it did make sense…and I was afraid to admit it. I felt the same way: I knew nothing about Afghanistan and the people that lived there, and I guess I kind of cared about them and felt bad that terrorists were occupying their country or whatev, but I cared more about my dad living. Living at _home_. I didn't get why Afghanistan had to be _our_ responsibility. Why did it have to be my _Dad's_ responsibility?

"What's…going on, Mom?" I stammered.

"What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on, Eleanor." I heard a bang in the background, as though she had slammed a cupboard door or maybe slapped the table with her hand. Or…?

"What's going _on_ is that your _father_ has decided to put off his leave. He's just _giving it away_ so some young pet who _also took leave at Christmas_ whose pretty little wife is due to give birth to a fat little baby in August. _Of his own will_ he does this! Well I guess since _his_ fat little baby was born nineteen years ago it's not so pressing that he comes to see her – or his pretty little wife. Because _I_ have no life. _I'm_ not a worthy wife. Just an unproductive, simpering, sullen _alcoholic_ _bitch_. Avoidance! I'm telling you, Eleanor, it's not me, or even you, that has perfected the technique of avoidance." She hissed the last words: "_It's your father_."

I heard all the words, I understood them, I agreed with them. Unproductive, yes. Simpering, yes. Sullen, of course! Bitch…that was a given. _I was all of these things._

I felt my chin quivering. "Are you drinking, Mom?"

"Come home!" she wailed. To me or to Dad?

I heard a crash followed by dead air. Quietly, I pressed "End" and stood dumbly. I couldn't go. I wouldn't go. I had an exam tomorrow…and what was the point? Go home just to pick up the empty bottles and climb the stairs to my old bedroom, my old life, while my mom's blacked-out mind expanded through the livingroom?

_Avoidance_…no, I wouldn't avoid it any longer. Hadn't it all been coming to this?

I grabbed my keys, coat, and hat and slammed the front door behind me.

If I was correct, the LCBO should still be open.

(A/N: LCBO stands for Liquor Control Board of Ontario. All liquor stores in the province are called "LCBO" and are owned by the provincial government. The LCBO offers a generous chunk of profit for the province (a 1.2 billion dividend to the provincial government in 05/06).)


	15. Dimension

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 15: Dimension_

I was walking, practically running, home with my LCBO-marked bag clutched in clenched fists, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"What's in the bag?" asked a voice.

I spun around, concealing the bag behind my back protectively. I was facing Johnny, the jerk from group. I sneered at him. "Nothing you would be interested in."

"Oh really," he replied with a knowing smile. "Because it looks exactly like what I would be interested in. And –" He stepped back and looked me straight in the eye. "– I'm also interested in girls with shaved heads and scars up and down their arms."

"Get your own," I spat, referring to what was in the bag.

"I would, only she seems to be giving me the brush-off."

I half-shrugged and regarded him through the slits of my eye-lids. I knew I should turn and walk away, but not only did I doubt he would _let_ me, part of me didn't want to. So I waited to see what he would offer me.

"Look, I can't get my own," he muttered. "I'm eighteen. Get it for me; I'll give you enough for more for yourself. Then let's hang. I hate drinking alone. Only alcoholics do that." I thought I noticed a meaningful glimmer in his eye when he said that, but it still made my stomach turn. _Alcoholic_ was the one word I kept avoiding…but the word I went out tonight intending to embrace.

I refused to be, however, what Johnny thought I was. I couldn't deny the shaved head and the scars. But I could deny the alcoholism. Besides that, Johnny might give me an alternative space in which to drink, a space which Marco wouldn't find out about.

"Gimme the cash," I muttered back, thrusting the bag into his hands.

At the LCBO the clerk raised an eyebrow and said, "Back for more?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Uh, more people showed up at the party while I was gone."

"Party?! Man, you can't be done exams already, can you? Cos that ultimately sucks for me. I have exams till the goddamn 30th."

"Uh, not exactly," I laughed nervously. "Just done for the week. Taking Friday off before picking up to study again over the weekend."

"Well have fun," he said, passing me my ID and change, along with my second LCBO bag of the night.

"I'll try," I murmured, annoyed at the thought of tomorrow morning's exam, and apprehensive of just what kind of "fun" I was in for tonight.

Johnny was waiting outside the store. "Where should we go?"

"Let's go to your place," I said quickly, wiping my hand across my forehead.

"Uh uh," he replied. "Better make it yours."

"My roommates are studying," I pressed, annoyed. "Why can't we go to yours?"

He sighed and threw out his arms. "Fine. You wanna? Let's go. Then maybe you can see what booze does to a person. Oh, but wait, there'll be no place for you to sit, since my dad will be _passed out on the couch_."

I gulped, ignoring the niggling feeling that our drinking tonight would be a tribute to our parents. "Forget it. I know a place."

The Core was musty and quiet. The last issue of the year had come out last week, and all the occupants, who had been simultaneously familiar and alienating to me, had fled back to the so-called real world of student life just in time for exams.

"You okay?" Johnny asked, spinning in a chair and twisting the cap off a mickey of raspberry-flavoured vodka. "Aw, man, this stuff is savage. Chick stuff."

I hovered by the door, unsure if I was ready to enter. The last time I had been here had been…I could see the ghost of myself up against the desk, embracing the desirable yet repulsive Jessie, taking one last gasp at living up to his expectations of me, the 2007 frosh girl of choice. Or maybe not of choice…just the first one to walk in?…

"That's hard liquor," I rebutted quietly. "Hardly 'chick stuff.' "

"Hey, I didn't mean that chick stuff is _weak_," he explained quickly, taking a swig. "I just meant the girly flavour. Fruity. Gay."

"So girls are gay and savage," I said off-handedly, staying standing right where I was and digging into my own mickey.

"No, no, I didn't say _that_. At least…girls with shaved-heads and scarred arms aren't gay."

"Their friends are," I replied, wondering briefly if it would be easier to be gay than straight as I stared hard at the spot where I had sat on the floor, bleeding. "So lay off it, okay? If it's meant to be an insult, it won't work, because when your best friend is gay you kind of think gay is cool."

"Okay. So you're gay, then," Johnny replied smoothly.

"Like I said –"

"No, man, like 'gay' as in 'cool,' " he explained. "You said it, not me."

"I'm cool, am I," I repeated. At one time in my life, I had believed I was cool. Not cool in a "cool kids" way, but cool in a "I'm my own person" way. Even when I hated myself and my life, I was able to survive somehow by rising above everyone else, everyone who wanted to hurt me. At first there had been my dad leaving, and my mom drinking…not to mention a certain unmentionable nemesis beating me down psychologically as she attempted to pull my dreams of working with Caitlin Ryan out from under me. I had thought I was so much better than her, that I actually had a personality that wasn't clipped from a book of paperdolls. And when she tried to take _cutting_, cutting_myself_ away from me…I hated her more for knowing my secret, for having a stake in the one thing in my life I could control.

Over the past year Paige had once again become one of those people I had to rise above when she inserted herself into a love-triangle with me and Jessie. And while my relationship with my parents hung in a precarious balance, Caitlin Ryan, my mentor, my hero, my goddess, after whom I had strived to shape my life, was also reduced to uncoolness in my books when she, too, horned in on Jessie. She hadn't known, of course, but…well who was I kidding? It was Jessie himself that was at the centre of it all. So why couldn't I alter my view of him enough to rise above him, too? Why did he have to seem so "cool"? So calm, so collected, so knowledgeable, so sexy and apparently knowledgeable in the realm of sex? So perfect, so untouchable. When he let me into his life he regarded it as doing me a favour.

How dare he treat me that way? As if he was so much better than me? As if having freaking sex with me was doing me a freaking favour…because after all, he could get with anyone…and the fact that he chose me, well, that must mean that he deemed me "cool" after all. But that coolness was not the kind of coolness I used to put upon myself. It wasn't the kind of coolness I could control, the kind of coolness that made me different and helped me rise above. It was the kind of coolness that mired me in a world of external expectations and the struggle to fulfill them daily; that, or become nothing – no one. Jessie had popped me out of a book of paperdolls. It was just that Paige and Caitlin and who knows who else had come from more desirable, perhaps more expensive, rarer books of paperdolls. Paperdolls with prettier clothes and petitely made-up faces.

But one thing bound all me, Paige, Caitlin, and the other women: one-dimensionality.

"Yo, you okay, man?"

I looked slowly from Johnny, who was seated in my desk chair, to the near-empty mickey in my hands. As I tipped the last few drops into my panting mouth, he said, "You totally blanked out there."

I reached into my bag for the second mickey and plopped into the chair nearest me, across the room from Johnny. I opened it and drank. "You want to fuck me or what?" I asked.

Even the mask of the cool Johnny dented in slight shock at that one. After a moment, he replied. "Hell yeah, Ellie." It was the first time he had called me Ellie.

"I thought so," I grumbled, though I was stirred a bit at the idea.

"I ain't going to," he clarified. "I said I want to, and that's the truth. But you're freaking fucked up enough without me in there too."

"You're already in," I pointed out. "You made damn sure you could come in and fuck with me. Fuck with my _head_." I was feeling woozy, light-headed. And it was good.

He pressed his lips together and took off his hat, then shook out his hair with a hand. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get all up in your face. I just wanted to be your…buddy. You're cool, okay?"

Suddenly, I laughed out loud, and doubled over in my chair. "You said that already!" I exclaimed. " 'member? You said it and I said, 'I'm cool, am I.' Like a question, but not. Like wondering if I should agree with you but kind of agreeing already."

Slowly, one foot at a time, I rolled the chair over to where Johnny was sitting. "You're all up in my face," I squealed, shaking my head back and forth and sticking it in his face. Then seriously, "You're sitting at my desk, y'know."

He said nothing, just studied my face and took a drink. I reached out and took a lock of his hair in my hand, then stroked it against my cheek. "Gol- Goldi- Goldilocks," I sounded out.

Johnny reached out and slowly, as if waiting to see if I would stop him, removed my hat. He placed the hat on my desk then returned his hand to my head and rubbed it back and forth slowly against the persistent stubble there.

"I'm sorry about your Dad," I said softly.


	16. Child's Play

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 16: Child's Play_

I woke up slowly at first, completely oblivious about the day or where I was. But as I came to, I realized woozily that I was at The Core, my head buried in my arms against my desk.

"What time is it?" I murmured to myself.

"11:30," a voice promptly replied.

I barely registered the voice. "11:30…11:30…" I repeated.

I sat up suddenly. "11:30?!" And then, as the pounding headache hit me, "Ooooh." I let my head, which was covered by my hat, hit the desk again, and I moaned as I shook my head back and forth.

"Uh, you okay, Ellie?"

That's when I realized it was Jessie who was in the room with me.

"Don't talk to me."

As I stood up slowly, cradling my forehead in my hands, my jacket slid off of my knees and lap where it had been carefully placed. A second jacket slid from my back and shoulders. I looked down. It was the green jacket Johnny had been wearing. I glanced around me. All evidence of our little drinking party had magically disappeared.

Jessie stooped to pick up both jackets and passed them to me silently. "If you need someone to talk to…" he said.

"I'll make sure it's not you," I finished, and stumbled for the door.

Seeing Jessie was not good. But what was less good is that my exam had started at 11:00. Marco must be going out of his mind right now, wondering where I was.

I couldn't run, but I tried to walk fast. The first water fountain that crossed my path I practically walked into, I was craving the water so badly. I pressed the button and dunked my head in it. Some of it dribbled into my mouth, but I mostly let it stream over my face. I buried my face momentarily between the two jackets, took a deep breath, and strode on towards the gym.

At the entrance to the gym, an older woman was standing in front of the door with her arms crossed against her chest. A bright pink sticker bore the words "EXAMINATION INVIGILATOR." She said nasally, "Excuse me," as I reached for the door. Ignoring her, I gripped the door handle. But she put her arm between me and the door, blocking me. "Excuse me," she repeated. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Going to my exam," I said as calmly as I could muster.

"It's 11:36," she informed me, as though this were the most obvious thing ever.

"Yeah, I know I'm late," I mumbled. "It's my fault. I guess I might not finish the exam. But I should be able to get at least some of it done."

"I know it's your fault," she replied, studying me critically. "But no one is permitted to enter the gym after a half an hour has elapsed. These exams began at 11:00. It's 11:36 – actually," she amended, eyeing her watch, "it's 11:37 now. Thus a half an hour has elapsed. And you may not enter."

I bit my tongue thickly, willing myself not to cry. If I couldn't get in there, I would get a zero on the exam. If I took a zero on the exam, I would almost certainly flunk the class.

"Well?" She looked at me pointedly. "You can go home now."

She went out of focus as the tears glossed my eyes and I turned away hesitantly, unsure of what to do.

"This isn't high school," she called after me. "This is the real world."

At that, I spun around and marched towards her. I couldn't give up. I couldn't let this be it. "You're right. This is the real world. So why can't you give me a break? Look at me!" I whipped off my hat and, frustrated, indicated my cold, bare head. "I'm a wreck! My life is screwed. Please. Let me keep at least _one thing_ in my life _normal!_"

I stood a few inches from her, face-to-face, challenging her to keep me from my exam.

"It's university policy," she answered smoothly, and held a radio up to her mouth. "I have a situation at the Red Gym doors."

So she left me no choice. Tears flowing, I ran.

Still holding both mine and Johnny's jackets over one arm, I fled campus. I ran past the house. I ran past the LCBO. I ran past a church and graveyard, the library, grocery store, and hairdresser, a mosque, and endless other houses. I ran for twenty or more minutes. Now here was The Dot, the alleyway, and Degrassi Community School. I didn't stop running. Until I was…home. Could I still call this home? But of course it was home…it all depended on your definition of "home." And my definition of home was precisely what I knew I would find when I walked in.

In the front hallway, I gently placed the jackets on the bench there. Then I called softly, "Mom?"

Just as I expected, she was in the livingroom. Unexpectedly, the phone was on the floor opposite from her, and a dent in the wall above it explained the bang I had heard on the phone last night. But, just as I expected, she was on the couch. Just as I expected, passed out. Just as I expected, the familiar vodka mickeys.

I started as I saw myself in her place. And as I reached down to the coffee table and floor to pick up the empty bottles, I saw Johnny reaching underneath my passed out body to get at the last bottle. He put it in the LCBO bag, and emotionless, placed his jacket around my shoulders. I took the bottles into the kitchen and threw them in the recycling bin. Then I changed my mind and put them in the garbage instead.

Johnny and I were both good at what we did. Playing both our parents and our parents' children.


	17. Outside

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 17: Outside_

_Okay, Ellie, you can do this_, I said to myself, my hand poised to knock. The bigger question was, did I _want_ to do this? With everything that had happened in the last two weeks, everything that I had _let_ happen, I was beginning to wonder what I really wanted from life. Before, I thought I had everything worked out. I had been a confident young reporter with a hot hot boyfriend and a sweet, sophisticated life at university with my best friend Marco. Now the only thing I was confident about was that my life was a wreck, just as I had confessed to that nasty invigilator lady earlier. And it's not that my life was actually much different now than it had been two weeks ago. I still had no boyfriend, and that was okay, as a holiday from men might indeed be in order – I pursed my lips as I thought briefly of Johnny – I still had my place at The Core if indeed I wanted it, and I was still in school if indeed I could pull off some sweet talk with this prof just now. But I was beginning to feel real despair in that, even if I pulled myself back "together," it really wouldn't mean anything. I could go on taking life the way I had been all year, calmly and prettily; my life could be damn-well _perfect_, and still there would be something missing. It wasn't something I could fill by adding the boyfriend back into the equation – I had tried that and failed. So what _was_ missing?...

Just then the door opened before I had even knocked. I was standing face-to-face with my Soci prof. She looked much different close up than as the little doll at the front of the lecture hall. She looked more like a person, with creases in her face and eyes with a certain amount of depth.

"Hi!" she said. "Are you here to see me or someone else? You _are_ in my Soci lecture, aren't you?"

"Er, yes," I replied tentatively, not sure how to proceed.

It was Marco who had sent me here this afternoon. He had been absolutely freaking out when I arrived back at the house around two o'clock. "Where _were_ you?!" he cried. "I was so worried!" And he embraced me. Before I could answer, he went on. "I kept knocking and knocking on your door this morning, and you didn't _reply_, so I opened the _door_, and no Ellie was _there_, and no Ellie was in the bathroom or kitchen or livingroom or porch, so I thought maybe you had gone _early_ to _study_ or something, and I kept trying your _cell_, and it was _off_, and I left you like a half-dozen _messages_ and went to the gym and you weren't _there_ either, and I could barely concentrate the entire time! I kept looking around for you and got told to keep my eyes on my own page. I wouldn't cheat, would I, Ellie? Tell me I look like an honest person!" And he held me at arm's-length and begged for answers and affirmation with his eyes.

"Yes, Marco, you look like an honest person," I said decisively.

"El…" he said slowly as he took a good look at me, "you look terrible…"

I refused to give details. I just confirmed that I had missed the exam and shrugged half-miserably, half-carelessly. He told me to march my butt up to the prof's office and beg for a second chance. Right after I marched my butt up to the bathroom to take a shower, that is.

"So what can I do for you?" she asked, gesturing for me to follow her back into her office. "How was the exam?" She nodded to a chair and I plunked myself there as she took a seat behind her desk.

"Well, you see, Professor –" I glanced quickly at the course outline Marco had given me, as I couldn't remember her name "– Morton, I…didn't exactly write the exam."

Professor Morton raised her eyebrows slightly. "That's…a shame. So I presume that's why you're here?"

I nodded. "I was hoping maybe I could write a make-up."

"What's your name?"

"Ellie Nash."

"Well, Ellie, I know that sometimes life gets in the way of school, but sometimes, like during exams, you have to let school get in the way of life."

I winced. Though I had missed the exam, I had barely studied in the first place. Who knows if I would have passed the darn thing. "But I can write a make-up?" But I suspected I knew what the answer would be.

"I'm sorry, Ellie, but I currently only have one version of the exam. It's impossible for me to give you an exam that was just given to hundreds of other students. Any of them could easily give you an idea of what the questions are. Besides, I can't make an exception for one student. If I did that, my door would be open for anyone to take the extra couple of hours to cram and then come to me with their sob story and expect to be able to write it."

"So…I'll fail the course," I intoned dumbly. I kind of wished that she would ask me about _my_ sob story. Who wouldn't I win over with the shit I'd been going through?

Morton didn't answer, just fixed a stare on the wall behind me. The wheels in her head appeared to be turning. Was she thinking about how she could help me? Would she make the exception after all? There was _something_ going on in her mind; she hadn't simply dismissed me. I had just a glimmer of hope, yet even that hope was swallowed by the more persistent general hopelessness that even if I got my way on this, it wouldn't make me any happier with my life. It might just get me one step closer to continuing along a life path that was perpetually uncertain and dark.

Still staring at the point behind me, Morton got up and closed the door, then stood in the middle of the office silently. With the door closed I was apprehensive. Doors had been closing on me lately…the door to The Core, closed behind us by Jessie, the door of the bathroom as I sank to the floor and drowned in the blood of my past, the door of creepy Mr. Hanna's office. All of them were doors I had opened again myself after the turmoil that ensued within the enclosed space. When was I going to get to the point where I would no longer open the door of my own will, to leave the turmoil behind? What if I just stayed, sometime, _inside?_ Perhaps that had already happened today, when I tried to open the door to the gym and was forcibly denied. And it seemed that the doors I had opened in the past 24 hours, the door to The Core and to a drunken stupor with Johnny, the door to my mom's house and my mom's drunken stupor, were doors that I had purposefully closed a long time ago. I had no idea where I would go after I opened the door of this office to leave. I just had the vague notion that it would be some place I wouldn't like.

Morton was still standing with her arms crossed, fixated on that spot on the wall. The intensity of her stare, although it wasn't directed at me, was as disconcerting as the closed door. And it vaguely reminded me of someone…

"Ellie." She spoke loudly, and broke her gaze from the wall to look me in the eye.

I didn't respond, just looked right back at her apprehensively.

"At present I have seven students registered in my spring course. I need eight in order for the course to go ahead. I need the course in order to pay my rent. And so you see, I need one more student to register in this course." She looked at me intently. "If the student that registers in that course is Ellie Nash, then Ellie Nash might just take a C in Soci 201. I help you and you help me."

I was taken aback. "Are you allowed to do that?" I blurted out. My journalist senses were tingling. This would make the perfect exposé…if only I weren't one of the subjects implicated.

"Nope!" she said cheerfully, dropping back down into her chair and leaning forward. "So, we have a deal?"

"Uh…yeah…I…guess so." What choice did I have? It was this or an F on my transcript. I stood up and reached for the door handle.

"Okay, so the course is called Borders: Theory and the Real World. It's cross-listed under Cultural Studies, Sociology, and Women's Studies, number 465. No pre-reqs. You can register online." I nodded and began to turn the door handle. "BUT," she added, "if you're not registered by Monday, your grade will be recorded as an F."

Out the door I scurried. Out one door and through the next. Never knowing where they might lead. Pretty sure they all led to places in the same dank, decrepit building. Even though it might look polished and sophisticated on the outside.


	18. Inside

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 18: Inside_

"You were quiet today, Ellie," the group counsellor, Dave, commented as the others were leaving.

"Yeah," I replied. "I just…noticed Johnny was missing, and…I was worried."

"Is there something to be worried about?" he asked. "I know he goes to your old high school but I didn't know that you two knew each other outside of group."

"Oh…I didn't know he went to Degrassi." I winced at how little we actually knew each other, but again, was stirred at the thought of how quickly we had overcome our differences and grown close in a moment of fellowship. "Um…we ran into each other on Thursday night…we kind of…got drunk together."

Dave appeared concerned, but just nodded slowly. "I'm glad you two are becoming friends. Maybe next time you could do something different. Like coffee, or bowling, or biking, now that the weather's warming up."

I smiled wryly. "Uh, thanks. I'll consider the suggestions." I was still worried about Johnny though, and I said so. "If you hear from him, could you, I don't know, get him to e-mail me or something? I mean, it's not that I'm prying, but…I have his jacket." I held up the green army jacket and shrugged. "I was hoping he'd be here today."

"Well, I'll tell him. But he's never contacted me outside of group, so you might have to wait until next weekend." Dave smiled warmly and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll see you then?"

I nodded, then headed for the door.

As I opened the door and stepped into the sunlight, I raised the cat-eared hood of my Emily the Strange sweatshirt. Although the weather was supposedly "warming up" there was a bite in the air today. And wait, that wasn't sunlight, that was a white hole in the sky, attempting to shine through the cloudy smog.

So it was kind of crappy, maybe about eight degrees, and clearly environmentally unfriendly out today, but I snuggled deeper into my sweatshirt as I ambled toward the bus stop and couldn't help but feel cozy. I hadn't worn the sweatshirt all year – it didn't fit. Didn't fit under my jacket. But today, along with a long black skirt, chunky black heels, and a couple of tank tops underneath, I felt just a smidgen better than I had in the last few weeks. Or maybe even…than in the last eight months?

There was no sign of the bus, and no one waiting at the bus stop, signalling that one may have pulled by recently, so I made up my mind to walk. As I zig-zagged along the sidewalk, I took up my skirt in one hand and hummed a little. _Humming?_ I scolded myself. _What the heck is wrong with you? Aren't you supposed to be _depressed _right now?_

But I grinned a little even at that thought. Yesterday's events, though bizarre, held some promise. Being in school during the spring semester meant that I could pull in a small living allowance from the government along with my continued scholarship, and would probably only have to work part time. And although I was apprehensive of Prof. Morton's unconventionality, yesterday she and her intense stare had reminded me of myself. Reminded me of a time when I, too, was unconventional. And it made me nostalgic.

Hence the black. And the Emily the Strange. And the ambling, the humming. Maybe I could take control of my life again, without hurting myself. I could be in control of not my own feelings, but my reactions to those feelings. I felt…used. By Jessie. I felt…pretentious. Because of my clothes and my petty, idealistic freshman goals. I felt that with those aspects of myself I had played right into the person Jessie believed and wanted me to be – the same as all the other girls. The same as all his other paperdolls. But paperdolls need someone to control them in order to dress, to walk around, to speak, to think. I had never been like that before I came to university. Perhaps it was just easier that way, to allow myself to be someone I wasn't. It's not like being Ellie Nash was ever easy. So by being someone else – by being Jessie's "Frosh" – I could cut all those problems away.

It turns out I only buried them.

And they had risen up with a vengeance when that paperdoll life got ripped to shreds.

My life was still far from perfect, even far from under my absolute control. With mom drinking again, not to mention my own…indiscretion…and Dad still non-existent, the overall health of our family was slightly more than questionable. I also had four more exams in the coming week for which much more studying was needed. But I could survive. There might be something real worth living for somewhere on the horizon.


	19. Current

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 19: Current_

_AN: My story will continue as though "Talking in Your Sleep," the last episode, didn't happen._

By the time Paige returned from New York late on Monday, I had completed two more of my exams, pulling off probably around C, C(+), B-. Not too shabby considering I had basically been ignoring school in the last several months. I felt good about them, although still wondered what the point was exactly. I wasn't convinced that this whole "university" thing was for me. I decided to talk to Paige about it, since she was the resident drop-out expert.

I went to her bedroom and knocked on the door. "Come in," she called. I opened the door and breathed in deeply before I entered. This would be the second time I'd been in her room, and last time I'd been a cold, damp corpse. What would an encounter in Paige's room entail when we were both warm, breathing, moving young women?

She was unpacking. "Hi, hon. Well, don't just stand there stupidly. I said come in!"

"How was your trip?" I asked, trying to subtly ease into the conversation. Discussions with Paige always made me a little bit nervous, maybe because I had never quite lost the notion of her as popularity princess and me as social outcast. So I usually tried to make jokes and deprecating remarks about Paige to cover up my insecurity. But since the night I shaved my head (to put it mildly), it seemed our friendship would inevitably take on a deeper current. Akin to the current that I had felt years ago when Paige became the first to discover my little habit and insisted in her maternally-fraught way that I spill my guts to Sauve. Except that current had really never had the chance to pull us into any kind of real relationship. I had continued to be the social outcast and she had continued to be the popularity princess. Somewhere deep inside of her she cared about me, but she still didn't acknowledge me in the halls or in class, and I still looked down and away, hoping on one level that she would never acknowledge my existence, and thus the secret that was the welts on my arms, but wondering on another level if she ever felt drawn to me and my darkness.

Now that we were living together, that undercurrent would not only develop, it would likely stay with us forever. There was no ignoring each other now.

"Oh, you know." She looked up briefly from the shirt and hanger she held in her hands and wrinkled her nose. "It was grand, of course. But let's talk about you, hon. Catch me up to speed on what's been going on in the glorious life of Ellie Nash."

Okay, that was weird. Why would she blow off a chance to talk all about her amazing, wondrous, "grand" trip to New York? She didn't seem upset about it at all, but I wondered if perhaps it hadn't gone as well as she had hoped.

Still, I didn't mind. Perching on the edge of her bed, I decided to get right to the point since she had yielded to me. "I'm really wondering lately about this whole school thing," I sighed. "I think it kind of turned me into this person I'm just not. This yuppified, professionalized wannabe. No offense to you."

"Ha, ha. Thanks, Ellie."

I grinned. "I'm just kidding. You're not a wannabe. You're the real thing."

She chuckled and shook her head.

"So anyway, I just don't really get what the point is. You go to class, you take the test to prove you apparently learned something, but what did you really learn? You learned to tell the teacher what they wanted to hear and to hurry up and get on with life; who cares about the class itself. Maybe that's partly why I got so wrapped up in The Core, you-know-who aside. I thought I was living for journalism, and that school would get me there. But if school just gets me to tell people what they want to hear, that's not very good journalism skills, is it? A journalist shouldn't tell people what they want to hear, a journalist should tell people how it is. How it _really_ is. _And_, not only that, but I picked up on that skill so well that I applied it _exactly_ to my life at The Core. I mean, I fed Jessie what he wanted; the lines, the articles, the picture of me in his mind as innocent little frosh. I also gave him sex, and that's what he wants just in general."

"Well why shouldn't he," Paige said lightly. "Don't we all?"

I grimaced, unsure of how to reply. I mean sure, there were parts of sex that I really enjoyed, that I had really enjoyed with Jessie even, prior to all our issues and prior to my spontaneous decision to lose it to him. "I guess so…" I replied. "But…sex isn't always _good_. I mean, it can suck."

She laughed again. "Yes, it can."

I stared at her a moment, then shook my head to clear it. "Ugh, okay! That's not the point! Look, the point is, I feel basically like university in all its aspects is turning me into a child of Benetton. A media whore. A corporate drone. Not to mention Jessie's little frosh minion! These are things I _never_ set out to be! And you know what? I went to this dude's office, this dude who is like editor of a newspaper, and tried to get an internship there for the summer, and okay, not only did he totally creep me out by like, checking me out, but he also recognized me from the Caitlin fiasco and told me that real journalists don't _make_ the news, they report it. But maybe I _want_ to make news – maybe I want to have at least 25 of a life instead of just pandering to authority all the time!"

Paige had stopped unpacking, and now she thoughtfully came and sat beside me on the bed. "Hon…" she began, pausing. "That was…quite the motivational speech. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was cynical, but only in all the right places. Thanks for sharing that."

I smiled a small smile. "Um…no prob. But really, I was coming to you because I was hoping you might have some insight on staying in versus dropping out. Since you dropped out. And everyone else is more on the 'staying in' level at the moment."

Her smile faded. "Oh…right. So you came to me for advice on whether you should stick with it or not. Because I didn't."

"Right."

Her demeanour became brusque and efficient as she stood up quickly and returned to her unpacking. "Well Eleanor, I can certainly say that now that you recognize all those things you dislike about university, you'll be able to deal with them in a critical and productive manner when they come along. So I would say stick with it, at least for now, because believe you me, the pandering-to-authority skill is precisely what is needed in the world of work as well. You're speaking to Andrea's child of Benetton, media whore, corporate minion whatever, so I know quite well."

"So basically I'm screwed whatever I choose."

"Not necessarily," she intoned. "I imagine that university provides at least a few spaces in which to critique those things you don't like about it – like The Core for example. And maybe there are even some classes in the upper level that talk _about_ authority instead of enacting it. Think about it, once this year is done, you'll no longer be the freshman bitch at The Core." She took a step toward me and smiled again. "You'll have a bit more power, and you can use that power to undermine authority all you want. Let that dark little goth girl out, Ellie. I can see her struggling behind your eyes, trying to stay afloat, trying to get out of that dark, torrid pool to go to the diving board and make a big splash on your current life."

_AN: I might not be able to update for awhile. But please keep checking! If, as I predict, I will not be able to update for awhile, it won't be for at least a week, but after that I'll try my best._


	20. Unanswerable

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 20: Unanswerable_

I glanced around nervously as I hesitated at the classroom door. Today was the first day of the spring semester. It was a small class, just eight people, plus the prof – Morton. It sort of reminded me of group. Except that in group at this point in my life I felt like I was in control. Except when Johnny decided to pipe up and taunt me, that is. He still hadn't been to group, and I was really kind of worried now; Dave still hadn't heard from him. But, getting to the point, group was a familiar setting for me now. This small intimate group in a classroom just felt kind of unnatural…and definitely intimidating. We were all somewhat doe-eyed, confused as to why we were here. I was willing to bet none of us had had this small of a class before. It seemed to put more pressure on you as a student, because there were less other students to deflect to. I imagined it would get awkward when Morton asked us a question and no one answered and no one could hide behind someone else's head or with their face in their arms against their desk.

"Hi, Ellie," Morton smiled. "Welcome to Borders."

I pressed my lips together but didn't exactly smile.

"Can I get you guys to move the desks to the side of the room and arrange the chairs in a circle?" she asked.

I automatically went to move a desk and bumped against another student. "Sorry," I mumbled, and he apologized quietly at the exact same time.

I grabbed a chair and plopped myself into it across the makeshift circle from Morton. I studied her. What was she, some kind of wannabe psychiatrist? This was looking more and more like group every moment.

"You may find this a little unconventional," she stated as the last person, the guy I had bumped into, slid into his chair and plunked his backpack on the floor beside him. "How does this set-up make you feel?"

Oh, God, not _feelings_.

She must have read the disdainful look on my face, because when we all remained quiet, Morton looked me straight in the eye and raised her eyebrows.

I shrugged. "It makes me feel like I'm on the psych ward."

She cocked her head curiously, though her eyes were laughing. "Why is that?"

"Well a) because of this circle; it's like we're all the weirdos in therapy, and b) because you just asked us how it makes us 'feel.' It's touchy-feely. I don't go to school to talk about my feelings." I was a little surprised at the sound of my own voice. I was generally quiet in class. Somehow being called upon to speak made me feel like I was actually a real person, actually someone who mattered. Even though it kind of pissed me off that Morton was laughing at me behind those eyes that reminded me of myself. And that I was undermining my own argument by actually telling everyone how I was feeling.

Still, I continued, a little more confidently now. "I came to school so I could get a degree in journalism and tell people about stuff that matters in the world. In journalism it doesn't matter how you feel. It doesn't matter what's going on inside of you. All that matters is what's out _there_."

"That's an interesting point you've got there," Morton said. "Does anyone else have any comments about this set-up?" Her eyes settled on the guy. "How about you? And tell us your name. We'll be spending at least 36 hours together over the next several weeks, so we might as well get to know each other."

"Uh…I'm Josh," he mumbled.

"And how does this make you feel?"

"It feels like a waste of time!" another guy guffawed.

"What's your name?"

"Tyler. What's yours?"

Morton bit down on her tongue, then laughed. "I'm Jessica Morton. You can call me Jess. And I'm not gonna lie, this whole thing feels a little weird to me, too."

"So why are you making us do it?" Tyler asked, leaning his elbows on his knees in relaxation.

"Because it's not my job to make you comfortable," she answered smoothly. "It's my job to make you uncomfortable. That's what this course is all about. We're going to talk about a lot of things that will make us uncomfortable. Why do you think we would do that? Why is it my job to make you uncomfortable?"

"I dunno," Tyler replied. "It seems stupid, because we're paying to be here."

"Right, I forgot," said Jess facetiously. "You paid to get on the Red Arrow, but you ended up on the Greyhound. In fact, you're still waiting around for your bus to arrive."

"Actually, I take the GO train in from Burlington," Tyler smirked.

Some people tittered. I looked from Tyler to Jess, more than a little confused.

"Question, Ellie?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so."

"Well, ask away. I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions, so you can ask me any questions you have. I might not always know the answers, but luckily there are nine of us here. So feel free to ask each other questions, as well. So what's on your mind?"

"The bus thing…I don't get it."

"I'm going to defer to Tyler on this one," Jessica said, looking at him pointedly.

He swooped right into the role. "We're paying to be here, right. We have certain standards and expectations that need to be fulfilled by the course. It's up to the prof to teach us the things on the syllabus, and it's our job to learn them so we can get a good grade. That's what we're paying 500 per course for. I'm with her," he continued, nodding to me. "I'm here to get a degree that will get me into law school as fast as possible. All I need out of this class is an A or A+. And I deserve to get what I'm paying the university for."

"What about people that are on bursary?" Josh said timidly. "Or who have student loans?"

"What about it?" Tyler challenged. "I have student loans. All the more reason to get the hell out of here and get a sweet paying job in a law firm in downtown Toronto and get the loans paid off."

"So why did you choose this course?" Jessica asked Tyler.

"Bird course," he replied. "Easy A. I mean, Theory and the Real World? How hard can it be? We all live in the real world. We all get it."

"But what _is_ the real world?" Jess asked. She seemed to genuinely not know the answer.

"Aren't you supposed to tell us that?" another girl piped up. "You're the teacher. We don't know what you intended when you made up the name of the course."

"Yes, I'm a teacher," she agreed, "but I don't know everything."

The girl balked a little. "Well we don't know the stuff you're going to teach us."

"Like I said," Tyler chimed in. "Waste of time. We've already spent, what, fifteen, twenty minutes babbling about nothing. And what have you said," he said, directing the rhetorical question at Jessica Morton: "Nothing. Abso-freaking-lutely nothing. I haven't learned a damn thing yet. I mean, when are we going to _start?_"

"You want me to talk?" Jessica asked.

Tyler and the other girl nodded, along with a few of the students who had been silent up till now, and who were apparently content to stay silent.

"I'll talk then," she conceded. "For a moment, anyhow. I'm going to tell you how this classroom set-up makes me feel. It makes me a little uncomfortable that I, your teacher, have visually given up my position of authority by joining you, my students, in a circle in which we are equal. It, as Tyler has proven quite well, has allowed for you to more readily treat me as a peer rather than as an authority figure: it's easier for you to forget that I am indeed your teacher and to outwardly treat me with contempt or disrespect. A side note on that: you will not treat each other or me, not to mention your own selves, with contempt or disrespect in this class, starting now." She stared hard at Tyler. "This is a _safe_ _space_. And maybe that sounds a little touchy-feely" – this time she looked at me – "but in order to learn from our discomfort, we have to support and respect one another. If we disrespect each other in a space of discomfort, we will continue to interpret discomfort as a negative feeling to be avoided. But in reality, my friends, in fact in _the real world_, situations and spaces of discomfort are indeed spaces of _learning_. Think back to other courses you have taken. Now, if I were to place a single explanatory textbook into your hands and put you back into rows of desks, and lecture you for six hours a week, how much do you think you would actually learn or retain from this course?

"Now, I will continue to talk, but only on one condition. That condition is that I win the game we're about to play. You see, the reason I don't prefer to lecture you for six hours a week, aside from the fact that you won't learn much from it, is that I won't learn much from it either. And I'm not only here to teach. I'm here to learn from you, and from the 'real world.' If you don't like that, if you think that teachers don't have a right to learn, then that's something you'll have to come to terms with. I've already come to terms with the blatant fact that my students always teach me something, whether they intend to or not.

"So here's how the game will work: We'll take turns asking questions. I'll ask you as a group eight questions overall. If you as a group can't answer a question, I will get a point. In between those, each of you will ask me a question about something you care about and know a lot about. If I can't answer it, then you will get a point. So let's begin. First question for you: What's a panopticon?"

We all sat in dumb silence, doubtful about the "game," and most definitely uncomfortable. I could tell from all the throat-gulps and downcast eyes.

"Okay, so I get a point." Jessica drew a little scoreboard on the whiteboard and rewarded herself with a single tick. She turned to Tyler. "So what's it gonna be?" She was smiling.

"Um…okay, what does 'noggles' mean?"

I didn't know but I noticed that Josh raised his eyebrows while Tyler and another guy smirked.

"I have no idea," Jessica confessed. "I take it that's a good thing?"

"No, just a _guy_ thing," Tyler replied easily.

Jessica then asked us another question that sounded even more foreign than "noggles" to which no one knew the answer. I thought Tyler was stupid for asking about something she would obviously have no idea about. He was trying to prove that she knew more than we did, so why did he ask a question she couldn't answer?

By the time it was my turn to ask a question, no one had answered one correctly. "I don't know what to ask," I said.

"Think about something you know a lot about," Jessica suggested. "Then make up a question about it."

"Honestly, I don't think I know much about anything," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. I thought about journalism, and how I had fucked up everything when I interviewed Caitlin, not to mention how I had stayed at the bottom of the ladder at The Core all year with only Jessie's infrequent gestures of false benevolence. I thought about sex with Jessie, and how I hadn't figured out that he was just using me all that time, and how I had flipped out that night at The Core when I had bled, as if I had never seen my own blood before. My stomach churned just thinking about that moment.

But then the extent of my knowledge dawned on me.

Blood.

Now that was something I knew a lot about.

My face snapped up and my eyes met with Jessica's.

"What colour is my blood?" I asked.

I thought she might laugh again, but she frowned cryptically. "I guess I do know the answer to that question. Unless you're royalty, that is. No points this round."

"You're supposed to ask a question that means something to you and that you know a lot about," the girl beside me reminded me. "Everyone knows what colour their blood is."

"Some more than others," I muttered.

"No, it's okay," Jessica covered quickly, and went on to ask her next question. "Which famous Marxist theorist strangled and murdered his wife?"

I tuned out from there. Not even my journalist senses tingled at the sensation of a murder. Apparently my own blood was still smeared across my mind. I took off my hat and rubbed my hand back and forth slowly over the hard but fuzzy hairs there. This class was too much like group to keep me from bringing the personal into it. Tyler was wrong – even though we had supposedly been babbling about nothing for the last half an hour, I had already learned something: that somehow, and I wasn't quite sure how, "feelings" were a type of knowledge, and they were relevant in a classroom. Initially I had thought that was stupid. But maybe it wasn't so stupid after all. And strangely, I suspected that that was exactly what Jessica Morton wanted.


	21. Secrets

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 21: Secrets_

"Okay, you are going to _love_ me."

"Well I already love you, Marco, you just have to work to sustain that love." I smiled innocently at him as I slipped off my shoes and dropped onto the sofa next to Hip Hop. It kind of felt weird to smile. It kind of felt…normal. Not normal in a trying-too-hard way, but normal in a this-is-my-life way.

"Okay, let me rephrase," he amended. "You are _still_ going to love me. And that's because…I got us jobs!"

"Marco, that's awesome," I congratulated him. "So what is it?"

"Grounds maintenance on campus. It'll be great – we'll get to spend some time in the sunshine, have fresh air, take breaks when we feel like it, and chat the _whole time!_"

"Aw, Marco," I whined. "You know sunshine makes me melt." But I was just kidding. At this point I would take what I could get. _Rose thorns…shears…the blades of a lawnmower…_

I shook my head quickly to clear it of the thoughts. "Nah, it, uh, sounds great, Marco. So when do we start?"

"Tomorrow. Look, I even got you these." And he tossed something at me – a pair of gardening gloves, black and red.

"_Very_ fashionable!" Paige declared, appearing in the doorway. "Did you get me a pair, Marco?"

"No, Paige, I don't trust my own judgment when it comes to choosing clothes for you. That's something you'll always have to do on your own."

For a moment, Paige's forehead creased, then she brushed it off and flounced toward the hall closet. "_By the way_," she said strongly, "whose – uck – _jacket_ is this in here?" She pulled a green coat out and wrinkled her nose as she wriggled the hanger back and forth, careful not to let it touch her. True to that, she continued, "It's been smelling up the closet _at least_ since I've been home from New York, and when I opened the closet this morning, it was actually _touching _my new blazer. So? Any explanations?"

I raised a single finger in the air. "Er…it belongs to a friend of mine."

Paige did a double-take and ended up with her lips evenly pursed in disgust. Even Marco seemed surprised, I noticed. "I assumed it was Griffin's."

"Hon," Paige wheedled, "Griffin is a _man_. This jacket belongs to a _boy_."

"And who is this _boy?_" Marco taunted affectionately, punching my arm lightly. "Is he cute? Is he single? Is he gay?"

"Marco, you're making Hip Hop jealous," I replied, pointing to the rabbit's wiggling nose.

"That does _not_ answer the question," Paige cut in. She took an intimidating step forward and thrust the jacket at me. "Well? Who is he?"

"_Okay_, Paige, don't have a cow," I said, standing and brushing the wrinkles out of the jacket. "It's just a guy I met at group."

"A 'friend'?" she persisted. "Why would you have a 'friend's' jacket? Don't usually _boy_friends let their _girl_friends borrow their sweatshirts and coats and other assorted warm, cozy garments that smell like them?"

As I hesitated, avoiding the question, she grabbed the jacket back from me and took a whiff. "Ugh! Smoke and booze. Like I said, it's been stinking up the closet. Get rid of it, Ellie. And I mean now. I won't have it in my closet anymore." And she thrust it back at me before stomping away up the stairs.

Marco's eyebrows were raised when I turned back to him.  
"What?!" I cried.

"Booze? El…were you drinking with him?"

"No, _Dad_," I said sarcastically. "He was just…he was drunk one night and he called me. He needed a friend. I mean he was just really, really, really depressed."

"So why did he call you in particular? I mean, I've never even heard of the guy. You guys can't be the _best_ of friends."

I smiled reassuringly and put my hand on Marco's shoulder. "Don't worry, Marco, he's not out to replace _you_. I haven't even seen him since. I had short sleeves on and it was cold when I walked home. I borrowed the jacket to walk home after he passed out. He hasn't been at group ever since; that's why it's been in the closet so long. What's _up_ with Paige, by the way," I continued, sneakily changing the subject as I replaced the jacket in the closet. "Why does she have to get her shirt in a knot about some stupid jacket. I mean, I know clothes are her life, but really. She doesn't _own_ this place. And we were here first."

"Yeah it's weird," Marco agreed readily. "I know she was going on about the jacket, which _does_ admittedly fit with our usual Paigey, but ever since she got back from New York she seems to be on edge."

"Yeah, I know what you mean!" I chimed in, eager to keep the focus off of me…me and Johnny. "She's barely talked about the trip at all."

"And she's been really moody."

"Again," I laughed, "not really far from the regular Paige Michalchuk. But I got the same feeling, that something happened there that she hasn't told us about."

Marco shrugged. "Well let's keep an eye on her. She'll open up to us eventually. But meanwhile let's make sure she doesn't self-destruct."

As he spoke he looked at me meaningfully, and I knew he was "keeping an eye" on me as well. I flushed. He must know that I had been drinking with the body that had filled that green jacket. He must know that I hadn't yet opened up myself (metaphorically speaking) and that my own self-destruction was ever immanent on the horizon.

But he was treating me as though I was normal.

He smiled and pulled out a deck of cards. "Let's play," he said simply, shuffling. I sat down again and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. For another few hours maybe I wouldn't have to think about the secrets I refused to tell myself.


	22. Trimming

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 22: Trimming_

With my new gardening gloves and a baseball cap to protect my vulnerable head, I was ready to get to work and get dirty. Marco and I were trimming a hedge at the forefront of campus that spelled out the university's name.

"Isn't this a bit overboard?" I asked, referring to the series of hedges shaped like letters. "I mean, doesn't the university have something better to spend money on?"

"Um, I'm going to say 'no' on this one, just because that money is going to _us_," Marco grinned.

"Thank God for that. But you know what I mean. Why all the hype? This is an institution of learning, not a _theme park_."

"It is kind of EPCOT-esque," Marco assented.

We fell silent. Over the last five hours plus two fifteen minute breaks, our conversation had come in spurts, somewhat forced I felt, about mundane things like EPCOT and bushes, but Marco was kindly trying to avoid my messed-up life. My messed-up life. The life that was so distortedly reflected in the sharp, inviting blades of the trimming shears. I stopped to rest and panted as I gazed at my reflection, half my face on this shear, the other half on that shear. My face, sliced into halves. I imagined what it would be like if I had shaved off my hair with these things. How the cold metal would have felt against my raggedy, bald scalp.

I had a good few millimetres of hair now. I was used to the shortness and the lack of a portable face-obscuring device. I also kind of enjoyed the looks I had been getting – why, because a girl with short hair is weird? I was defiant. I would think, _You know nothing about me. You have no idea what I've gone through. You have no idea why my head looks like this. And you have no right to judge me on it._ Then again, if they were going to judge me on it, I wasn't going to stop them. Maybe it would actually make them think twice about what it means to be beautiful, what it means to be real. What it means to not be just a simpering, eager-to-please paperdoll.

How easily my whole head could have been removed with a clip of the shears if I was only made of paper…

"So how's that spring course of yours?" Marco asked, interrupting my thoughts.

Aha! So he couldn't avoid my messed-up life forever. There were only so many hot passersby and cute, fat squirrels to comment upon.

"It's…_interesting_, I suppose. Not like any other class I've taken before."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we talked about _feelings_. And we played this weird game…I don't know. It seems like the set-up of it is pretty cool, though. Each week we're supposed to have one discussion class on the week's theme, and then one class 'in the field,' doing some random activity thing that one of the other students comes up with, which is supposed to correlate with the week's theme. Next week the theme is 'pedagogy,' which, I had no idea what that was. We have to read this book called _Pedagogy of the Oppressed_, which is pretty cool, I mean, pedagogy is supposedly the study of teaching or learning or something, like the study of study basically, I guess, but then this book is like, totally a manual on how to start a revolution."

"Maybe this university is a theme park, after all," he commented. Then he smiled. "Well it sounds like it's giving you a lot to think about and a lot to talk about. You haven't talked this much about something in awhile."

I shrugged. "I have no idea what activity I'm going to plan on my week. The theme is queer theory. You should like that, Marco. Apparently it's about various sexualities and stuff. But yeah, I have no clue what I'll do. But maybe I'll get some ideas from what other people plan."

"I know some queer theory," he replied, walking around one of the letters and trimming a stray leaf. "I've done some reading over the years. Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick and 'Epistemology of the Closet'…that's pretty interesting. Foucault and _The History of Sexuality_…David Halperin. Some cool peeps."

I laughed out loud. "Did you just say 'peeps'?"

"I said 'peeps,' " he confirmed. "Did _you_ just say 'peeps'?"

"I said, 'peeps'!" I cried.

"Peeps, peeps, peeps, peeps, peeps, peeps, peeps!" Marco sang.

Some people walking across the street glanced over.

"Hey, peeps!" I yelled, waving wildly.

"Peeps!" Marco yelled.

My laughter came in heaves that I could barely handle. I collapsed into the dirt, shaking. Marco soon joined me. We continued gasping and giggling and threw little piles of dirt at each other.

"Hey Marco," I said when I caught my breath. "How'd you like to have a mansion on a hill with the name 'Marco Del Rossi' emblazoned on the grounds in bright green bushes? That way anyone who drove by would know how great and important you are."

"I don't think so." He shook his head seriously. "I'd prefer if _peeps_ would keep their noses in their own business. I don't take well to _peeping_ toms."

"Okay then, _peep_."

We grinned hard at each other and, spontaneously, embraced.


	23. Natural

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 23: Natural_

"Central to any discussion about pedagogy or education is the question of human nature. In _Pedagogy of the Oppressed_ the author Paulo Freire makes that very clear. But he's only one of many who give ideas of what education should entail based on what humans are."

It was the following week and I was back in class. Though the book had been dry and repetitive at points, a lot of its ideas intrigued me. It was really set up to explain the difference between the oppressor and the oppressed, and it made obvious that while there are hierarchies of oppressor over oppressed everywhere, the most overarching one is global, with the First World oppressing the Third. It made me think of Dad and Afghanistan. You would always hear about how Canadians were over there building roads and schools and fighting the Taliban, who were oppressing the people of Afghanistan. But the book made me wonder if "the Canadians" were also oppressing the people of Afghanistan, by literally occupying their space, and in a way, by telling them how to live.

At any rate, I realized that things were perhaps more complicated than I had previously thought. My dad was a part of it, but it wasn't as simple as him just "going to work" every day. What he was doing was small, but affected the world in many different ways.

"So the question we should start today with is this: what does it mean to be human?"

Unsurprisingly, Tyler snorted. I gave him the evil eye, although he pretended not to notice.

A girl named Janine piped up. "Well according to Freire, humans are defined by their differences from animals. We humans are unfinished and social and always changing, while animals already have their niche in nature and don't have the power to change the world around them. The most basic difference is that humans have consciousness and animals don't."

"Great, thanks Janine; that's a good summary of Freire's views," Jessica said. "Although I'm not totally convinced of his views, I think more discussion of 'consciousness' could be important. Let's talk about our own ideas about consciousness."

"We're conscious of the world around us," Josh put in shyly.

"So what does that mean?" Jessica asked him.

"It means that…we see a lot of the things going on inside and outside ourselves. Especially in this day and age, with all the news and media, we are conscious of what's going on all over the world."

"What would be an example of that?"

Silence for a moment.

"Iraq?" asked a girl, Lisa.

"What about it?" Jessica pressed.

"There's always news about it, so we're conscious of it even though it's far away. An animal on the other hand only knows what's going on right in front of it."

This conversation was reminding me of Beuller, my old ferret, who had chewed through an electrical cord and died from the shock. He sure was stupid, at least in that sense, but then again, why would I expect him to be conscious of something that humans invented: cords, electricity? He was originally from nature where that stuff didn't exist. At the same time as he didn't know things I _wished_ he had known in order to keep himself alive, I had read about animals and their "sixth sense." Some animals knew long before a storm was coming and would bolt. Animals bred for meat knew when they were being led to slaughter. Some pets were remotely aware of when their owners were on their way back home. And when I was sad, Beuller came and curled up with me, nuzzling his nose into my neck. He sensed my emotions better than Sean had.

"Why are we picking on animals here?" I asked, feeling the need to defend Beuller. "In some ways they're smarter than humans. I think it's just that they have a different _type_ of consciousness than we do." I recalled my Anthropology class. "Besides, scientifically animals _are_ humans. We're closely related to a lot of different animals. So how can we really put ourselves above them?"

Jess smiled. "That's a really good question, Ellie."

I beamed. Not because of the praise from her, but because this was something I hadn't really thought about, and it was really interesting. And because it made me a little angry inside that people could be so thoughtless about animals. Animals are sacred. Animals treat the earth and each other with respect. For the most part, anyway. But they take only what they need. We humans, on the other hand, take in excess, and give back little, or nothing. And we treat each other horribly. Wasn't that what Paulo Freire's book was about in the first place? About how there are the oppressors and the oppressed, and while we apparently have the capacity to treat each other with respect, we choose not to? So how could he seriously say we're differentiated from animals, that we're better than animals?

My stomach turned a little as I thought about Caitlin, but I couldn't help but wonder if her mind reeled this way when she thought about the environment. I had never actually been interested in the environment the way she was; I just picked up on it because I had idolized her so much, because I wanted to please her. Well my days of pleasing her and pleasing Jessie were over, and it felt just awesome to actually care about something and get a little tug of anger and pleasure all at once over something outside of my own pain.

It was…human.

I was becoming conscious.

And, because I wanted to be, I was an animal.


	24. The World

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 24: The World_

For the rest of the class we talked about human consciousness again, and how knowledge is always incomplete because the context of the world around us is always changing, and that we thus had a responsibility to not believe we really "knew" anything (Tyler loved that one). We also talked about Freire's concept of "reading the world" – being literate doesn't just mean knowing how to read books. It means allowing yourself to be conscious of how you affect the world and how the world affects you – it means knowing that you _do_ affect the world.

Mysteriously at the end of class, Josh, whose week it was to plan Thursday's activity, asked us to bring a five dollar bill to the next class.

I was intrigued, but mostly annoyed because I wasn't sure where I'd dig up the cash, since I wouldn't be getting paid till the next Friday.

By Thursday morning, I couldn't find a five dollar bill, but I did cobble together a toonie, a loonie, four quarters, and a mire of dimes, nickels, and pennies to make up the final dollar. I hoped it wasn't imperative that it actually be a five dollar bill.

We met outside our usual building.

"So where are we off to, Josh?" asked Jess.

Quiet as usual, he just nodded slightly and started walking.

I fell into step beside Josh and choked out something about the warm weather, which incidentally I had not been enjoying. It was hot to work outside in. And I couldn't get away with black clothing without breaking out in sweat. I wore black anyway.

"Yeah, it's been surprisingly hot for the beginning of May," he agreed. "Every year we say, 'It's getting warmer,' and every year we flippantly blame it on global warming, and every year we keep driving our SUVs instead of taking public transit."

Relieved that talk about the weather could lead somewhere half-interesting, I smirked. "Maybe those people need such a big car for their over-inflated heads," I suggested. I realized with a start that every time I saw Caitlin she was being chauffeured around in a really sweet car. She never took public transit, either.

"Then again, with gas prices practically at an all-time high, you'd think that people would actually stop driving," Josh commented.

"And walk or stand on a train?" I asked sarcastically. "You know that famous picture of evolution, with the picture of the guy in different positions throughout time? Well now we're on a sitting position with arms and legs outstretched for the steering wheel and gas pedal."

Josh smiled, but then turned his head away shyly. It was the most I'd heard him talk since the course had started. I tuned into the conversations around me. A couple of girls were talking about a new line of celebrity make-up. And ironically, Tyler was regaling another guy and girl about his new truck. Yellow Dodge Ram. Apparently he wouldn't be taking GO transit from Burlington anymore. Bully for him.

We were off campus now, walking in a haphazard line down the sidewalk toward the downtown core. The sidewalks were teeming with people, random street art, and construction warning signs. Drivers honked and swore at each other; each time a stop light turned red, there were still at least two cars in the intersection trying to get through, only to find that we pedestrians were in their way in the crosswalk.

The sidewalks made me feel a bit claustrophobic because we had to wind and weave to avoid people walking in the opposite direction. To stay sane, I counted the blocks.

We walked for eight blocks before crossing to the other side of the street and coming to a halt in front of a used bookstore.

"What's up your sleeve?" Jessica asked Josh.

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "All the books in this bookstore are 99 cents. So you should each be able to buy five books. You should pick out five books that mean something to you, I mean, I don't know, you don't have to have read it, but just as long as the title seems meaningful to you somehow, or something like that. Then we're going to split up and leave the books in random places that you wouldn't expect to find a book." He held up a small notepad. "Just leave a note on the cover that says 'Read me!' or something to encourage someone to pick it up and read it."

"What's the point?" Tyler challenged.

I was impressed that Josh took him on without a hitch. "I've heard of groups doing this before, like in Vancouver and stuff. It's pedagogical because it's a way of reaching out and indirectly influencing five other random people who you might not otherwise get a chance to teach. Also, by going out into the world around us instead of staying in the classroom or on campus, we'll be 'reading the world' at the same time as we're getting other people to 'read the word.'"

My classmates buzzed quietly, and seemed fairly excited. It was a fun way to spend a block of three hours, compared to in a stuffy classroom, anyway. To me, the prospect of picking out books I like and sharing them with someone else was a little thrilling. It was kind of like journalism in a way, to decide what someone else will read.

It took me a good chunk of time to pick out the five books. The bookstore was packed with romance novels, none of whose covers failed to remind me of Jessie, rippling muscles, erect nipples and all. _Lord Scandal_…that described Jessie to a T, considering his many escapades. _Crystal Past_…the clarity of each and every memory, from the pleasure and the pain to the humiliation, darkness, and confusion. _The Foppish Winter_…well if I knew what "foppish" meant, I was certain this title would describe the temperature of my blood over the tumult of my first year in university.

By the time I had just four books picked out, only Josh and Jessica remained. They had each purchased their five books, and were chatting by the doorway. Waiting for me, probably because they felt bad.

"You guys can go, you know," I said loudly, interrupting their conversation. "I'll be done soon."

Jess cocked her head. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Oh yeah, it's no problem. This seems to be a personal endeavour, anyway."

She nodded back and looked at Josh. They left the store quietly.

Another five minutes passed. Then I spotted a book that would do. It was on the corner of a table in the back that I hadn't noticed because it was dark there. Hooking my small stack of books under my elbow, I reached for _Mrs. Dalloway_ by Virginia Woolf. I had read it in high school. I didn't particularly enjoy it, but from what I remembered, it pretty much embodied the idea of "reading the world," since the main character Clarissa constantly and excessively describes what's going on around her without paying any attention to what's going on inside of her. Hm. I could use a method like hers. Instead of drowning internally in my own frothy self-hatred.

_Then again_, I thought as I poured all my coins into the elderly clerk's wrinkled palm, _I've always respected Virginia Woolf for being one of those brave ones who could go through with killing herself_. Apparently twice in her life she had gone through extreme depression, and when it started again the second time, she decided to drown herself, her pockets full of rocks, rather than subject herself to that uncontrollable pain again.

Suicide.

Controllable pain.

I stepped back onto the sidewalk and was pleased to see that it had clouded over. As I headed down the street I felt a few raindrops. The other pedestrians scattered. I suppose I couldn't leave the books out in the rain. I would have to find sheltered spots.

I kept the books in my bag so they wouldn't get wet. Passing by a park I noticed that a small puddle had formed in a dip, and that a number of pebbles edged the puddle's sides. It reminded me of Virginia; it would be a great suicide spot for a deer mouse. The puddle was beside a set of cement stairs, so I placed _Mrs. Dalloway_ under the stair closest to it. It would take someone as observant as Clarissa Dalloway to notice it.

I smiled into the rain, which was now coming down harder and running down my face.

Perfect.


	25. Stoning

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 25: Stoning_

A/N: In this chapter I attempt to describe a place Ellie visits, a cement dome by the Toronto waterfront. This place actually exists, and since my description is crappy, you can look at pictures of it at the following links:

picasaweb.google.ca/gold.star.speaker/GroverDoesToronto2008/photo#5209186242725917954

picasaweb.google.ca/gold.star.speaker/GroverDoesToronto2008/photo#5209186159207907186

The rainstorm was very short, followed by a warm sun again. I put up the hood of my Emily the Strange sweatshirt so my head wouldn't get burned. I had a good half-centimetre of red hair now, but the sun could easily penetrate the thin layer.

With water on my mind, I headed down toward the waterfront. It would be a long walk, but by the time I got there I should have been able to find a place for each of the books.

Spotting a park bench beside an ice cream stand, I gingerly placed _Grover's Bad, Awful Day_ on the bench. It was a personal favourite from childhood. And in it, among other bad, awful things such as finding seeds in his jam sandwich, Grover endures a scoop of grape ice cream falling off his ice cream cone. Hence the ice cream stand.

I marvelled at how I had changed since I was a kid. When my dad would buy me ice cream from the ice cream truck. And when it rained it was a bad, awful day, because I couldn't go outside to play. Now rainy days were good days, or at least less-bad days, and the other days tended to be intolerable. And I was in no mood for ice cream. It just seemed too round, too creamy, and too happy. I wasn't necessarily _unhappy_ since exams had ended. But I didn't feel like _trying_ to be happy. When it came unexpectedly, like when Marco and I had been working our first day, I didn't try to stifle it. But it was too much energy to pretend that things were perfect…I mean in the perfect cut-out paper doll type way.

As I passed by a very grand, expensive-looking hotel, I noticed that a brass, carpeted luggage cart had been left out. Stealthily, I placed _Love in the Time of Cholera _on the cart, then slipped away down the street. I had never read the book, but I remembered that in the movie _Serendipity_ the female character writes her name and phone number on the inside cover of that book, then gives it randomly to a bookseller; she says that if it was meant to be that she and the male character met that day, then he will find the book somehow and then find her. So I thought the book would be an interesting choice. Perhaps it would bring serendipity to the person who found it. And, since part of the movie takes place in a hotel (the superstitious woman tells the guy to get into an elevator and pick a random floor, and if they pick the same floor then it was meant to be), the luggage cart almost seemed to _beg_ for the book.

The fourth book I had read. It was called _We Who Are About To…_, a classic piece of science fiction with a strong yet lone-wolf female character, determined when she and a few others crash-land on a habitable planet to die naturally or commit suicide, and not to try to repopulate. Smiling ironically, I slipped it into the bottom of a baby stroller when stopped at an intersection and the mother pushing it was looking in the opposite direction.

After a few more blocks I reached the waterfront. I sat on the boardwalk for a few minutes with my shoes and socks off, letting my feet dangle into the water. I watched the ferries dock and ship off, and the waves they created slapped against my ankles. I remembered as a kid riding bikes early in the evenings with my dad to a small, rocky piece of beach near where we lived. We looked for tadpoles and stones of interesting shapes. He taught me how to skip the flat ones, and he gave me a rock polisher for my eighth birthday so we could make our favourite ones smooth and colourful – or as he put it, beaming knowingly at me, to bring out their natural beauty.

If I were Virginia Woolf, those stones, which were still in a shoebox somewhere in the back of my bedroom closet at mom's house, would be the ones I would line my pockets with.

After awhile, I headed down the boardwalk, not ready to give up the final book. _Phantom_, by Susan Kay, a fictional chronicle of the life of the phantom of the opera, was another favourite of mine. Of course, it was also about a lone-wolf character, a frighteningly intelligent and amoral one who could kill with a flick of his wrist and without a second thought. He inflicted his internal pain on those around him, something I had never learned to do well. Granted, my strange behaviour last month did hurt people I cared about, but it mostly only hurt me. Erik the phantom, on the other hand, punished the world for the way they treated him simply because of how he looked.

I also thought the book was a tribute to our last class, because one of my favourite parts of the book was the relationship between the child Erik and his dog Sacha – Sacha loves him unconditionally, and even licks his hideous face without noticing anything was wrong. Tragically, some children in the village stone her to death. Erik takes the news surprisingly well, and when questioned by the village priest, he explains that he knows he will see Sacha in heaven, so it's okay. This moment is a turning point where "evil" overtakes the ugly little child, because the priest informs him that animals have no souls and certainly do not go to heaven. Erik freaks, understandably so, considering that it is a sweet, innocent animal who treats him with dignity, while horrid, thoughtless humans treat him as if he were a demon.

As I approached the end of the boardwalk, my eyes fell upon the perfect place for _Phantom_. It was a strange, cement dome right on the waterfront. I had seen it before, and always wondered what it was – maybe some kind of weird, abstract art. It was just the kind of odd architecture that would pique the curiosity of Erik, who was also an unparalleled architect who helped to build the Paris Opera House he would retire to as The Phantom. The dome was hollow, and I was willing to bet it got occupied by the strangest people, maybe a lone-wolf or two, just looking for a hidden place in which to explore the dark, scary depths of their own minds.

Looking forward to exploring its innards myself, I jogged down the hill toward the break in the dome where I could slip through. At the bottom I heard some scritching or scraping. On guard in case it was a wild animal of some sort, I cautiously gripped my fingers around the edge and poked my head around the wall.

I gasped when I saw what – who – was inside.


	26. Replay

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 26: Replay _

"What are you, stalking me?" Johnny cast his eyes toward me but didn't meet mine.

"No, it's just a coincidence," I said firmly, recovering from the initial surprise. "Like it's a coincidence that you don't go to group anymore."

"That's not a coincidence," Johnny replied darkly. He sucked the last bit of beer out of the can he was holding, then crushed it with his hand. "I don't believe in that serenity shit."

"You mean serendipity?" I asked, wading through the ten or twelve other crushed cans that lay at Johnny's feet. I stopped right before him and stared down at him until he looked at me – _scowled_ at me being a more accurate descriptor. "Johnny, why haven't you been coming to group?"

"None of your fucking beeswax." He cracked another beer. "_Now get lost_."

I changed my tactic. "I just wanted to return your jacket, that's all."

He remained unmoved. "Shouldn't you be out chasing down your next headline?"

"My roommate says it smells and wants to get rid of it."

"Well, there ya go," he said sarcastically.

"What?"

"That's why I haven't gone to group. No one wants me there cuz I smell like crap."

"Not like crap," I refuted, lowering myself beside him so I was resting against the rounded wall. "It's like smoke and booze, that's all."

"Sounds like crap to me," he replied. He looked at me, then spoke harshly. "_Leave_."

"_No_. If it's such crap, why do you put it in your mouth?"

"I'm not going to be your fucking headline, Ellie. So stop playing twenty questions with me." He guzzled from the can. "Besides, I don't smoke."

I opened my mouth to ask why the jacket smelled then, but shut it when he glared at me. He answered anyway. "It was my dad's."

_Was?_

He saw the look on my face and turned away. "He's not _dead_ or nothin'. Just doesn't exactly get out much. Now can we talk about something else, please?"

"Of course!" I gave him a triumphant smile and he frowned. He was going to talk, what else could I ask for?

"Look," I said, more serious now, "I do miss you at group. I wish you would come back."

"_Why?_" He seemed angry.

"Ohhh," I said to lighten the mood. "Who's playing twenty questions now?"

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Johnny's mouth twitch into a smile, the first of today. And perhaps the first non-smarmy smile _ever_.

"I just like to be reminded that there are people like me." I bit my lip from the inside and regarded the beer in his fist. "Besides…I kind of like you. Never thought it would happen, but it did. You're decent."

He snorted. "Sure. Yeah. Decent. Me….Whatever."

"So anyway, yeah…I have to give you back your jacket sometime, so even if you don't want to go to group, maybe we could…hang out…sometime."

He stared straight ahead. "We're hanging out now. Isn't that enough?"

"Well it would be if I had your jacket with me! But I don't! So you'll have to put up with me at least one more time!" Didn't he ever give it up?

"I can't put up with you, Ellie!" he said, voice raised. "I don't want to see you again! So just keep the fucking jacket! Or use it for fuel…I don't care. Just…just leave."

My face fell. Then I looked up, angrily. "Right. Okay. So I'm the one who smells. The _last_ time we saw each other you were singing a different tune." I felt a pang in my chest as I thought of the strange intimate moment that had passed between us at The Core – so very opposite to what had passed between me and Jessie there. I softened a bit. "Don't you want a friend?"

"I _have_ friends. If I remember correctly, _you're_ the one who doesn't want a friend."

I pursed my lips. "Well you don't have a _girlfriend_, do you?"

"No, _of course_ I don't. Who would want to date Johnny DiMarco? Thanks a lot, Eleanor."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Johnny!" My words reverberated off the cement walls, and I withered a little at my harsh, disturbing language. I quieted my voice to a whisper. "I'm talking about _me_."

"What, so I can be your rebound? _No thank you_, Ellie. You are too fucked up for me."

_Too fucked up…too fucked…fucked…_

I was hyperventilating a bit, the way I do when the pain wells up and I need to cut, I just need to fucking cut…

In one swoop I reached down, grabbed the nearest beer can, and ripped the tab off. Breaths coming faster now, I shoved my sleeve out of the way and sunk the ragged edge of the cheap metal into my wrist.

A single tear rolled down my face.

"Right, Johnny," I said quietly, looking into his eyes. They registered shock, disgust, and empathy. "I'm damaged goods."

I pushed my sleeve up further and shoved my arm under the brim of his hat. "I'm some other bastard's sloppy seconds, and I wasn't even any good to begin with." I jumped up, letting the book slide out of my lap, and looked down at him loathingly. "Keep your goldilocks, Johnny, and keep your secret hide-out. I could've been the just-right porridge and the just-right chair, just-right, just for you. But nothing can satisfy you. You consume everything and it's never enough; you drink and drink and drink, trying to fill that empty hole inside of you. But it's bottomless, Johnny. Bottomless. So you keep your beer. You keep your beer cans. You keep that cold and empty lover." I flung the bloody tab at his chest. He swiftly moved his hand and caught it. "Just don't expect to ever find a bed to lay your head." I made a sweeping gesture around the dome. "It's cement and stones and dirt for you."

As I was turning to run out, he reached up and grabbed my hand with his. I felt the beer tab in it, and the warm wetness of my blood squished between our palms. God, I was hoping he would grab my hand.

He stood and flicked the tab away. It landed on the book cover. Then he placed his hands gently on my cheeks and put his face just an inch from mine. The smell of the beer was overpowering. I realized he was swaying a bit, so, quivering, I wrapped my arms around his waist to steady his body. When he spoke, I was surprised that none of his words slurred.

They were clear as day. The stupid sun outside, glaring in. Penetrating our cozy hideaway.

"Ellie," he murmured. "You see what I'm doing to you? Look at what I'm doing to you. I just made you cut yourself." He paused to let the words sink in. I averted my eyes momentarily, guiltily. It was weird, I had never cut in front of someone before. It was weirdly liberating…it was like coming out to the world. _I'm Ellie Nash. And I'm a cutter_. _Now watch me cut. And lick my wound. I need you._

"You cut yourself…because of me," he repeated, slowly. "I freaking like you, okay. I like you…a lot, same as you like me. You're the reason I don't go to group anymore. I can't like you. And you can't like me."

"But wh-"

"No questions," he broke in. "Not an interview. A monologue. So let me talk."

He leaned in and rested his cheek against mine, his hands now on the back of my head and neck. "I do this to people. D'you think I'm different from my ol' man? You seen me drink. I'm the same as him. I hurt all the people I like…I hurt all the people I love, okay? And I think you know…that every time we…"hang out"…we're going…to drink together." His cheek was very warm. "I don't want you to drink, Ellie. I don't want that to happen to you again. You need to leave now and don't come lookin' for me again."

He pulled away suddenly and slumped back down; I felt like a giant band-aid had just been ripped from my body.

I stood there dumbly. I wanted to stay…I really wanted to stay…

"You're not gone yet," he observed. "So I'll ask you one question."

I nodded.

He looked at me meaningfully.

"Do you want a beer?"

A beer…_Do you want a beer?_ I took a deep breath and smelled the beer's aroma as if it were your mom's warm apple pie baking in the oven. This was my mom's contribution. I knew it was bad for me but I wanted it so bad…it would make me feel good, at least for a little while; it would make me warm and fuzzy inside, and it would give me a little control; something my mother couldn't control…

Control…like scraps of metal…like trails of blood…like pockets lined with stones…

Johnny must have seen the fear flash in my eyes.

He knew I wanted to say yes.

So he must have understood when I turned and fled like the wind.


	27. Fitting

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 27: Fitting_

When I reached home I slipped in the door quietly, hoping no one would be around. Unfortunately, Paige had apparently just gotten in from work, and was putting her shoes away in the closet on the rack. When she saw that it was me, she picked up in disgust the hanger with Johnny's jacket and held it out questioningly.

I quickly jerked my arm behind my back, hoping she wouldn't notice the blood smears. I smiled sweetly. "Good news, Paige. I found out today that you can burn the darn thing."

But I hadn't been quick enough. Her face was hard. Without speaking, she threw the jacket and hanger on the floor, and took my hidden arm in her hands. She traced the trickle of blood with her thumb, then pushed up my sleeve to the small jagged wound. She quivered as she examined it.

She looked up into my eyes.

The years between us melted away.

_Ellie, I don't care about the internship. You need help!_

_No, I need you to leave me alone like you usually do._

And Miss Sauve: _Just give me a minute, Paige, then we can talk about your friend_.

Friend?!

The notion still surprised me.

Paige insisted on fixing me up with a Disney Princesses band-aid and sitting me down in the living room with a glass of lemonade for a long talk. I was annoyed because I had no idea how to compute what had just happened, and at the same time I wanted to keep it to myself. _Not_ because I didn't want a friend, but because it just seemed personal…and I held the words and misunderstandings that had passed between me and Johnny close to my heart.

Thinking all this, I was just crinkling my nose at the band-aid when Paige spoke, and her words made my head snap back up.

"Did _he_ do this to you, Ellie?"

"Who, Jessie? Well, in so many ways, yes he did…"

"No, Ellie, not Jessie," she sighed. "I'm talking about dude." She nodded to the jacket crumpled up on the floor in the foyer.

"Wha-? _No!_ No, he did not do this to me. Paige, you know by now that I do this to myself."

"Well you must have seen him today," she pressed. "You said you can burn it now."

"No, I said _you_ can burn it."

She sighed again. "You're being stubborn. But it won't work this time."

"Look, I just don't want to talk about him, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed. "We'll just talk about boys in general."

"_Oh no_." I shook my head hard. "Last time we did that it got me into a _hell_ of a lot of trouble."

She nodded sagely. "Trouble that is still following you," she amended. "So let's talk it out. Let's start with…Jessie. You said he did this to you in so many ways. So let's start with that."

I bit my lips for a moment then took a deep breath and began. "Okay. Okay. I can do this. Okay. Well basically, he made me feel completely worthless!"

Paige drew breath in sharply. "Wh-…why is that?"

"Because he only wanted me for sex, like you said. Or maybe he liked other things about me too, but ultimately it all came down to that one thing."

She nodded slowly.

"I knew it, too, like everyone warned me. He had a girl every single freaking year. I was just one of them. And I'm pretty sure they were easier than me."

"You don't know that," Paige inserted. "And that's not fair, because remember, he hurt them too." She indicated the cut beneath the band-aid. "He left this mark on all of them."

"You?" I said doubtfully.

She laughed. "Well not me, hon. That was just a fling."

"See that's what I'm _talking_ about!" I cried. "How can you have that attitude? You even said that one night we talked that we girls tend to care more and be more serious. But you don't seem serious at all! And in fact, your lack of seriousness added to this cut, Paige! You were part of it!"

Paige leaned back in her chair and smacked her face. It was a long while before she spoke. "Uh…look, Ellie, I am so sorry about that. I blame myself, I really do. It was stupid. Very stupid. I know the rules."

"You just don't play with them," I said quietly.

"No, I don't," she murmured. "I never do."

I sat and glared at her a bit as she stared abstractedly at the floor. But I took to heart what she said about Jessie's other girls. We were all human beings who had been hurt by him. Even Caitlin had been hurt by him; he had ruined the relationship she had with me; he had put her in a solutionless dilemma without telling her.

After awhile Paige looked up at me with that business-like air. She was ready to talk again, and we were going to talk on her terms. "Look, Ellie, I hate to say it, but I suspect that adding in this other dude…jacket dude I mean…was your way of rebounding."

Why did everyone keep _saying_ that?! It made me angry, because I really did have some feelings for Johnny. Our friendship alone was unbearably intense. And I couldn't help but find that attractive.

"And trust me, Ellie, if you're going to rebound, you need to do it with one of your friends. Someone you trust, someone who cares about you."

"Really?" I asked with a cocked head. "That doesn't make much sense to me. Wouldn't you want to rebound with someone who _isn't_ a friend, because it probably won't last? And you'd just end up hurting them?" Hm. When I put it that way to myself, I realized that Johnny was the last person I wanted to rebound with. If indeed rebounding was what I was doing. But I didn't believe that. It just so happened that Johnny had fit right into the holes that Jessie had left, right into the troubled pieces of me that, amazingly, remained.

Paige shook her head hard. "No, believe me. You rebound when you're vulnerable, right? You need someone who will understand that and treat you right, so you don't end up in the same situation that left you so vulnerable."

Reluctantly, I said, "I guess that makes sense. But all my friends around here are gay!" I complained.

"Speaking of gay…" Marco appeared in the doorway, smiling broadly. "I have some news. El, you might want to take notes on this one."

"What is it?"

He perched on the edge of the sofa and let the story spill out. "The LGBTQ Centre is losing its space on campus. It's getting relegated to a tiny, windowless office that it has to _share_ with the Feminist Club. We're _literally_ getting shoved into the closet."

"Ohh…hon," Paige said sympathetically, reaching out and patting his knee.

"No, no!" he cried, grinning. "It's good, it's good. It's going to get us lots of _publicity_…" Marco looked at me pointedly. "…because Eric is organizing a sit-in! We're not going to give up our space _that_ easily!"

"Ooh, a sit-in. That sounds _exciting!_" Paige gushed.

"It will be _awesome_," Marco confirmed. To me, eagerly, "You'll cover the story, won't you, El? Eric can't, since he's spear-heading the thing."

But the wheels in my head were turning. "Marco…when is this sit-in taking place?..."

"In two weeks. Why?"

"Two weeks? Seriously? To the day?"

"That's when they're slated to start renovations…for – get this – the _Ethics Committee_. How ethical is _that?_"

"Marco!" I jumped up with a smile as wide as his. "This is great! That's the day of my activity for class. Queer theory…a sit-in at the LGBTQ Centre…what could be better? You wouldn't mind having a few extra sitters, would you?"

"The more support the better," he nodded. "Be there or be square."

"I might be able to squeeze the time off work," Paige commented. "Andrea's out of town again that Thursday and Friday, and she's leaving me in charge. But we have no projects slated for that time anyway, so I basically just need to be on call."

"Paige, that would really rock," Marco said. "The bi community could sure use some more presence in the center. That would be a great day to show it."

"Er…right…" Paige blushed and looked away. Marco just continued talking. "To show how much the center is needed on campus. How much that _space_ is needed. How many of us there _are_, that we won't all _fit_ in the closet!"

At that point I tuned out myself. I wondered if Johnny was still out at the waterfront, drowing his sorrows. I couldn't believe what he was doing…what he was doing _for me_. He was drowning himself in order to keep me safe and out of the water. But why couldn't we both just _swim_ together?...My heart fell as I realized I had no way to contact Johnny – I was in the same boat as I had been before this afternoon.

I smiled to myself as I realized that Marco was still talking excitedly about the sit-in. I was really lucky about _that_ serendipitous coincidence. But meanwhile, my other serendipity was down at Lake Ontario, honourable and caring, yet silent and scared…


	28. Ghosting

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 28: Ghosting _

I knew something wasn't right when I walked into the room group was held at on Saturday. The air bristled. Tension was high. A couple people were crying.

I hesitated, not sure I could handle any more drama with the latest cutting episode under my belt. Yet it was more than drama. My lurching stomach and a pained look from Dave, our counsellor, confirmed that much.

Quietly, he led me gently by the elbow outside the room.

"Ellie, I have some sad news."

I shook my head, refusing to meet his eyes. I knew what he was going to say.

He bit his lip, putting off saying the words.

When I finally looked into his eyes, we both swallowed back tears.

"Johnny committed suicide yesterday," he said quietly.

No feeling. Just numb. I couldn't stop shaking my head, back and forth. It means, "No." "No" feeling. "No," it's not true. "No," how could I have let this happen. "No." Just when I thought life couldn't get any harder. Now life is nothing but this "no" thing.

"I'm sorry," Dave murmured. "I know you two had become friends."

I kept shaking my head in smaller, faster motions now. "Not friends exactly," grinning through tears. "But now I really don't know what to call it," I muttered.

I didn't leave. I felt I couldn't be alone right then. But, legs tucked under me on the chair in the circle, I wasn't really there, either. The details were fuzzy, a zillion miles away, as Dave spoke quiet and even, and the other kids responded with anecdotes about their own suicide attempts and their fears that this made it all the more real.

But to me it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

In fact, it wasn't real. This was just like every other Saturday. Johnny hadn't been coming to group for weeks now, so this was the same as always. And I hadn't really expected to see him again, although a small part of me was determined to track him down. So how was this any different? Dead or alive, Johnny was not part of my life.

Hanged…not at all messy, I suppose; no blood at least, just a white face and purple neck. A ghost. Dead or alive, Johnny was not part of my life. He had always been a ghost.

Except his hair. Oh damn, his hair was real. It was something I had touched. And his hand. And his cheek. Oh fuck it. I had fallen in love with a ghost.

_It's stone and cement and dirt for you._

A memory of my own biting words jolted through my body.

And I left him there…left him there to die.

No note was found…a closed funeral at parents' request...everything about Johnny's death – Johnny's _death_ – was more ghostly every moment. And ghosts aren't _real_…

I was as shocked to numbness by my realization that I had fallen in love with Johnny as by the news of his suicide. Surely it was only an extreme reaction to the hurtful news. I hadn't really loved him. I barely knew him.

I left the community centre in a daze, not hearing the words of comfort and reassurance Dave gave me, hand on my shoulder. I didn't walk to the bus stop, but instead turned the other way. My feet weren't stepping. They were floating. I couldn't control them. I didn't care. I didn't see anything I passed by. It was all a blur. _I_ was the ghost.

And I found myself at my house…I mean, my parents' house. My mother's house.

A day for ghosts couldn't exclude her.

I don't know if she was home or not. Her ghost was even if her body was not.

I floated up the stairs to my old bedroom. All the ghosts of the room – the flames, the shouting, the bottles, and so many, many masks – spiralled ferociously around me and guided my arm to a spot on the wall where a tack helped to hold up a picture. The ghosts' cold fingers closed my fingers around it and tugged to release it from the snug, suffocating bed of the wall.

But when I ripped off the Princess band-aid Paige and given me and pressed the tack into my wrist, the ghosts were no longer controlling me. It was just me and Johnny.

The initial prick was as numb as those eerie words, "Johnny committed suicide..." But as I carefully carved out the "J" and the blood rolled off my hand in droplets, the love and hatred and despair culminated in my chest. And tears rolled off my face in droves.


	29. Cradle

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 29: Cradle _

I don't know if I passed out or fell asleep.

But when I woke up the first thing I noticed was the darkness seeping through the window and saturating the room with its abject tranquillity. I revelled in the darkness for a moment, wishing I were still asleep. The nightmares were there, but at least they weren't real. Awake, the nightmares _were_ real.

Then I realized that my body was twisted in a strange position. The top half of me was propped up slightly. Whatever was propping me was soft and full and warm. I yawned. That's when I saw the other hand. It was holding mine, my now bandaged hand. The bandage reminded me of the blood, which reminded me of the J, which reminded me of Johnny. Tears welled up in my eyes. This time I didn't have to cut myself first.

The voice was soft and reflective. "I felt the same desperation when I lost the one I loved."

I was weak when I spoke. How could I be anything but weak when this person was cradling me like a baby? "How did you know I loved him?" I asked. "I just figured that out for myself _today_."

A quick exhale of breath indicated a quiet, knowing chuckle. "Scarring yourself with someone's initials indicates something slightly beyond platonic friendship."

She knew me well. That thought scared me.

Maybe I wasn't weak. Maybe I was just vulnerable.

"Why are you here?" I asked. I wasn't suspicious. But I needed to know.

It was awhile before she answered. My hand throbbed faster than the hallway clock ticked outside the room.

"I found out what happened…and I…didn't think…you should be alone." A pause. "In fact, I _knew_ you shouldn't be alone. And I was right, wasn't I?" She rubbed her thumb gently over the bandage and gave another little laugh. "It scares you that I know you so well, doesn't it?"

Now she was just reading my mind.

"One thing I don't know, though…" She gulped in hesitation. "I know you loved your friend, Johnny…but…do you…oh, Ellie, do you love me?"

My mind raced. It seemed that very often I didn't _like_ the people I loved. My answer was careful and cryptic.

"I always seem to love the wrong people," was my reply. And my heart hurt at the realization. Jessie was the worst, with how badly he hurt me and played me. But no, Johnny was much worse – and now my face paled as I realized I had carved not only his initial, but also Jessie's, into my wrist – worse because he hurt me in a way that could never go away. He was dead – and dead is forever.

Just now, too, was I beginning to feel guilt over the entire situation. As far as I knew, he had killed himself _because of me_. When we had last spoken, he had expressed so determinedly that he had to protect me – protect me _from himself_. In his sick and twisted and _beautiful_ mind, he probably believed that he could protect me from himself by disappearing from my life for good. We wanted to be together – that much had been clear. But he had been convinced that our relationship would only destroy us both.

So he destroyed only himself.

Better that than become…our parents. Maybe this was the only way Johnny could salvage some real part of himself, without letting his father gradually take up residence in his brain and body gradually.

Yet I had more hope than that. It was true that he frightened the bejesus out of me when he asked me if I wanted a beer…because I damn well _did_ want to, forever, live in the little cave with Johnny, drinking slowly and saying funny things and touching each other's arms when we thought something the other had said was particularly clever.

But I absolutely refused to be her. There had been incidents involving alcohol. But I would not make it a pattern. Ellie Nash had her own special patterns. Writing, getting involved in destructive relationships, and last but not least, _cutting_.

I remembered my mom's sink-to-your-knees emotional reaction when I finally came right out and had to _tell her_ that I cut myself. Had to _show her_ the sharp and pointy objects of my affection. It differentiated me from her. It released the pain. It released the sink-to-your-knees emotion begging to escape from inside of _me_. It gave me some control over my painful, chaotic life. And finally, when I told her, it gave me an escape from our relationship. An excuse to leave her behind, to her own devices, to the drowsy, bottled objects of _her_ affection.

"Why are you here?" I asked again. And I craned and turned my neck to look at her. I had to see that it was really her.

It was really her. Who had bandaged me. Who was holding me. Who was touching my hand. And who now had her other hand in my stubbly red hair and her lips against my sticky forehead, all in a strange, unexpected desperation. I felt her heart hammering against me. And when I looked in her eyes, she wasn't absent as I expected her to be. She was all there. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what she was saying.

"I said I felt like you when I lost the one I loved," she murmured tearfully. "I was talking about when Daddy left. I was crazy with the loss. I still grieve for him, every day. What's worse, Ellie, _I still grieve for _you _every day_. And I can't lose you too."

She gazed down at my tightly, lovingly bandaged wrist. And I knew she didn't only mean my avoidance of her, and she didn't only mean her drinking. We were both thinking of Johnny in that moment. Johnny's…suicide.

She didn't want to lose me to death. She didn't want to lose me forever.


	30. Homecoming

**Disclaimer: I do not own characters or settings from Degrassi. Just the stuff between the proper nouns.**

_Chapter 30: Home-coming_

I stayed at home – not home, but my mother's house – home? what is home? – for the weekend. And on Monday morning she gave me a ride back to the house – home? the house I shared with Marco and Paige? I felt that something of me had died with Johnny, and I was a stranger to myself. I felt as I moved as though I was floating above my body and watching myself from the air. I was a stranger to myself, and thus a stranger also to Marco and Paige. No longer was my home with them a "home" either.

My mom had for me a gift which she presented to me after pulling up in front of the house. I knew what it was because I had heard its adorable noises from the back seat throughout the ride, but I pretended to be surprised anyhow. I _was_ surprised, after all – and pleased. For the first time in a long time I felt the gift from my mom was not a bribe, but a genuine offer of care.

"Hi, baby," I murmured, letting the silvery ferret dig its claws into my arm as it crawled up toward my shoulder.

"What will you name her?" asked my mom.

"Hm, she seems like a Renegade," I suggested, casting my eyes skyward to try to glimpse the wriggling body that was now perched on my head.

"Renny. That's sweet," Mom agreed.

Mom. Mom. Could I think of her as Mom?

"Well, thanks for the ride," I said awkwardly. Maybe not quite yet, I decided.

We had spent the weekend just hanging out and watching movies. We even made vegetarian chili. "Where's the meat?" my mother had asked. "I just don't feel like eating anything cute," I had replied. It was a strange mother-daughter normalcy that made my insides ache for my father's presence. But, thinking of how it might be if he were there, that we would have to share our newfound mother-daughter normalcy with him, that he would see my bandaged wrist and avert his eyes, I decided that it might just be better to be content with what we had in that moment.

"_That_ is adorable-on-a-stick," Paige gushed the moment I opened the door. She scooped Renegade off my head and brushed my tiny hairs with her palm. She shivered. "Ooh, that feels cool."

"You _like_ the ferret?" I asked dubiously. I watched Paige make kissy-faces at Renny while holding her high in the air. I wondered if the whole "content with what I have" thing would apply with Paige, a high-maintenance girl who really had no defined place in my life – especially now. How would she ever understand what I was going through?

Marco knew. I saw it in his eyes when he rounded the corner from the kitchen and gazed at me expectantly. I quickly looked away. I had no way to answer to him.

Did Paige know too, I wondered? That could be why she was being so gooey-sweet about Renegade.

Paige went to introduce the new addition to Hip-Hop, and still Marco was just standing there. I felt the same as I was pretty sure he felt: _what do I do now?_ I could go upstairs and do my readings for class, but how do you do that after your god-damned love interest commits suicide? I could sit on the couch with Marco under a blanket crying while the tea got cold, but there was nothing left in me to cry. I could suggest we all get out and do something crazy like go-karting or cow-tipping, but…cow-tipping? What was wrong with me?

Finally Marco hugged me, and I appreciated it, but part of me wasn't in it. Maybe it was the part of me that died with Johnny. Maybe I should say something. "I'm different now," I said simply.

Marco held me at arm's-length and bit his lip. Then he nodded. "That's…okay."

I nodded. "Maybe it is."

"Oh, you are so _cute!_" I heard Paige cry from the kitchen.

"Keep him away from electrical wires!" I called, thinking wryly of Bueller's untimely demise. Then, for no apparent reason, I sat down cross-legged on the floor, and almost immediately did Renegade appear with her little sniffly nose. She ran a lap around me, then clawed her way up my back and on to my head again.

I smiled wanly and looked up at Marco. "I think she likes my bristly hay-hair."

Marco nodded again, grinning slightly. "What about you, do you like it?"

Then I nodded again as my warm little friend stretched out her furry body from one ear to the other. "I don't mind it."


	31. Phantom

**Disclaimer: **Nothing Degrassi do I claim to hold in my possession.

**Phantom**

It was almost in a nanosecond, sitting there on the floor, Renegade's warm body wrapped around my head, that things fell into place, that things that didn't make sense before suddenly made sense.

I had been broken in my life. I couldn't place my finger on exactly what it was that had broken me, but it didn't feel so bad. It felt like I was in the right body – the broken body. I had been drawn to Johnny because he was broken. If I couldn't fix myself – if I didn't want to fix myself – I had thought I might be able to fix Johnny. Or fix at least one part of Johnny: his heart.

That plan fell through. The thought of being not-broken had driven Johnny to the edge: too much responsibility, to look out for someone else. Too much work, to root through your baggage to find a token of hope or love. Too much humility, to be loved. And too much courage, to lift up your eyes from their downcast position and face the world with dignity and determination.

It was too much.

So he zipped up his suitcase, cast it over a bridge, and shut his eyes forever.

That was the choice he made. And the fact that he _could_ make a choice stood as that very token of hope: all is not lost, even if you are broken.

I don't know why Johnny thought he would break me instead of heal my heart. But he did make a sacrifice for me. It was a sacrifice that made me so angry my eyes burned white-hot and rolled around in my head uncontrollably. But if I let Johnny's…Johnny's suicide… kill me too, then I would be at the very least giving away the gift of my own life, broken body, baggage, and all.

If I followed in Johnny's footsteps, it would only give pain to someone, or many someones, pain of the same intensity that I felt in the pit of my stomach when I heard…what had happened.

I had the power to not let that happen. And surely I could take on the responsibility of fulfilling that power. The work of looking into the past's wounds and seeing something warm and positive in the blood flow. The humility of being loved, like by the sweet little creature who had grown restless on my head and leaped into my arms, where I cradled her; like by my mom, no matter how hard it was; like by my friends, the friends I had been so cold to during my bitter self-involvement.

Surely I could take on the courage of looking up, instead of down.

I saw now why I had turned away from Marco, and even Paige, as I turned to Johnny: they weren't quite so broken as I was. If they had been broken in the past, they had long since healed the breaks. And I had felt their understanding could only go so far. It was far easier to find kindred spirit in someone like me, even though ultimately, I learned, one spirit cannot take on enough brokenness for two broken spirits.

Maybe…maybe you don't have to be broken all the time. Maybe in your healing times you can reach out and help to heal other people. And when you begin to crack again, those people will be there for you.

I saw now that my relationship with Jesse certainly hadn't helped the matters of my healing, but only poured hurt and confusion into old wounds of lacking love. And while Paige and Marco were relatively stable individuals and friends, and Johnny was a broken spirit to reach out to, Jesse was a breaker. He wooed me under a spell that made me think only his opinion of me mattered. Then he gained power over me by showing me – by cheating, by constantly treating me like a little kid, even like his bitch – that he thought poorly of me. So I worked like a dog even harder for his approval. And my old cracks, which never were far form the surface, re-emerged.

And it was familiar. It was somewhat comforting. To be broken that way felt like me, Ellie Nash. But when I thought about the way I felt around Johnny – so freaking deep in love, and intensely emotional and hopeful – I realized there must be more in me than just brokenness, even if it was our brokenness that characterized that relationship. When I thought about the way Marco had gotten me to laugh at work the other day, I realized that being in love isn't just about romantic relationships, but also about life, and the sun on your face.

Gosh, how cheesy could you get?, Renegade seemed to ask me, pawing at my chin and sniffing my mouth.

But really, I grinned, maybe the strength of endurance through broken times could make me a better, stronger person – a better friend, a better daughter, a better…journalist?, if that's still what I wanted to be; maybe even someday, it would make me a better girlfriend or mom.

I was so lost in my thoughts, this time good thoughts, this time okay thoughts, that Marco had to wave his hand in front of my eyes to snap me out of it. "Ellie, there's someone here to see you."

Renegade leaped into his arms as I got up from my sitting position and peeked around the door.

A concerned Dave was standing slightly awkwardly on the stoop, a book tucked under his arm. The image was comical, reminding me of a priest come to call on a mourner in his flock.

"Hi Ellie, how are you holding up?"

I cleared my throat. "I think you know there's not really a good enough answer to that question."

He grinned toothily. "When did you get so wise, young one?"

I shrugged. "It tends to happen when you go through so much shit at once. I just wish Johnny could've stuck around to enact some of his own wisdom."

Dave nodded slowly, lips tucked together. "Well, I came by mainly to give you this." He held out the book, and I saw that it was the copy of _Phantom._ I had left it in the cement dome when I had fled, the…the last time I saw Johnny.

"How did you know this was -?"

"Open it."

Anxious, I flipped open the cover.

The blank pages at the front of the book were graffitied in a childish scrawl. I glanced nervously at Dave.

"I'll let you have some time alone with Johnny," Dave said softly. "See you at group?"

"Yeah…most probably," I agreed ironically, closing the door after he left.

Sharing a knowing look with Marco, I scooped Renegade out of his hands and headed up the stairs to my room. The room stank of staleness and death. I went over to the window and yanked up the blinds. Then, standing in the sunlight as Renny explored the corners of her new home, I began to read.

_Ellie, _it began,

_I know you think this is because of you. Bannish that thought from your clown red head. There is a lot of other things in my life that you dont know about and there's a lot of things in your life that I dont know about. When I say I cant stay here with you to find out what you'res are, its still not because of you._

_I do have feelings for you and the feelings make me want to run. But I want you to know I was planing this for long time before we started talking. I couldnt let my love for you stop me. because if I did then I would be giving up the one thing in my life I could control. My feelings for you are uncontrollible._

_But I hope you will remeber me and honor me, the phantom in your lovely life. I know you wanted to help me and I hope you will help other people but pleas first help yourself. and I know you will help a lot of people in your life. Let me be a reminder that you want to help people and you dont want to die._

_I am at peace now. Pleas dont follow me._

_Your true freind,_

_Johnny._


	32. Standing

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Degrassi-related.

**Standing**

It was the day of the sit-in at the LGBTQ Office on campus. At first I was nervous because this was basically my class project and I was still in the process of proving to Jessica that I deserved the grade in the class for which I had missed the final. But as Marco, Paige, my classmates, a smattering of other people, and I all took our seats on the ratty couches or cross-legged on the floor, and as Eric stood before us and began to speak, my stomach knotted for another reason. This was no class project. This was real life.

It had dawned on me with Johnny's…death and all…that there was more education in the real world than in the walls of a classroom. I had realized that grades don't matter so much as spirit, friendship, and doing what's right. Now, sitting here, I was participating in something maybe not so grand, maybe absolutely humble, but something that was necessary.

Eric spoke and mirrored my thoughts: "Hello, everyone. I am so thrilled to see you all here to stand up for human rights: the right to be. The right to have a space in which to be. The right to have a space in which to _love, _whatever form that love might take."

I saw some nods from the audience of people I had never met. I noticed that Tyler looked down at the floor and, could it be, he blushed slightly? While Marco reached up from his seat beside me and squeezed Eric's hand, my own mind went to Johnny again. _The right to love, whatever that love might look like. _It was okay for me to love Johnny. Even in death. Because part of him lived on in me.

Eric couldn't hold back a short beam at Marco before his mouth set in a grave line. "As you probably already know, in less than ten minutes a construction crew will be arriving to shut down this office and begin construction to turn it into something else. Something exclusive. A space which, ironically, will house the Ethics Committee. No space has been procured to which we can move. Therefore, we gather today for the purpose of _refusing_ our exclusion and removal. Already we as LGBTQ students and allies experience such exclusion in the wider society. The reflection of that on our own campus is despicable."

Eric took a deep breath. "This will not be easy. I ask you not to do anything you don't want to do. But I plan to sit until forcibly removed. I plan to protect my right to a safe space on this campus." His tone changed slightly. "I would like to also welcome our allies from CSSW 465 who have chosen to sit with us in solidarity today. Welcome, Prof. Morton, and Ellie, whose idea this was."

"Actually, it wasn't my idea–" I interjected. But Eric silenced me with an eye roll and a grin.

"Now before I forget," he continued seriously, "I must also warn you that the university admin has been forewarned of our activities. I have been in correspondence with the Ethics Committee itself for months now, making our case. Since I have received only pooh-poohing, and at times outright nastiness, I told them in the last few letters that we would not be letting our space go easily. This means that along with the construction workers will probably be police and a university spokesperson."

Marco piped up and I looked at him in surprise. "They will be coming to intimidate us. Do not feel it is wrong if you are duly intimidated and need to leave. No one will hold it against you. The fact that you are here _now_ shows that you know in your heart what is right."

This time, Eric squeezed Marco's hand.

And that's when the door opened.

Two police officers decked in neatly pressed uniforms strutted in. The male one said, "I need you all to clear out immediately."

"We're students," Marco said, hopping to a standing position beside Eric. "We have a right to be here."

"No, you don't," the female officer disagreed. "This is a construction site."

A flash of neon yellow and orange signalled that the construction workers were crowding in behind the officers.

"Let me put in terms you can more easily understand," the other officer pressed. "You will be arrested for trespassing if you're not out of here in five minutes."

Nervousness shivered through us all as we exchanged worried glances. I knew one thing: I wasn't going to leave so long as Marco was standing there, tall and certain.

I heard one of the construction workers mutter something about fuckin faggots.

The female officer snapped her head back at him and gave him a look.

"That's hate speech," Eric said pointedly, although I saw him swallow hard. "And might I note that this is a safe space. Hate speech is not welcome here."

"I'll take care of him later," the female officer muttered, jotting something on a pad of paper. "But meanwhile, this space, whatever it used to be, no longer belongs to you. And I suggest you get out if you don't want my partner here to make good on his word."

At that, Tyler stood, and without looking any of us in the eyes, gingerly stepped over our various body parts to get to the door. Before the officers, he couldn't help but glance back. I caught his eye and just looked at him sadly. His mouth twisted strangely as he looked right through me, then bolted.

We were dropping.

"This isn't a safe haven," her partner stated evenly. "Free speech is welcome everywhere. But as I already alerted you, you, _all of you,_ are not welcome here." He glanced at his watch. "You now have four minutes."

"We…we are taking a stance," Eric gulped.

"Get the university to give our group another space and we will leave," Marco added, stepping forward.

The female officer sighed visibly, although she was trying to hold it back, and nodded back to someone who was outside the room. The person who weaved through the crowd of construction workers was none other than the president of the university. I had never seen him before. But I recognized him from photos from articles other reporters had written for The Core. It had always been one of Jessie's pet projects to capture El Presidente on camera as many times as possible. This was big. How could our tiny little sit-in be important enough for the president himself to take time out of his busy schedule of golfing and holding cushy lunch meetings?

"Show me your student ID," he demanded of Marco, standing only inches from him.

Marco fumbled in his pocket, then complied.

Glancing around, he demanded to know how many of us were students.

Paige and I glanced at each other nervously, then slowly raised our hands in tandem. The others followed suit, minus Jessica.

The president zeroed in on her. She was standing with her back against a wall and her arms crossed over her chest. "And who are you, young lady?"

Without skipping a beat, she replied. "I am Jessica Morton. I'm the instructor of CSSW 465. My class has come here today to show solidarity with our friends at the LGBTQ centre. And might I ask who you are, sir?"

I sucked in my breath. Paige put a hand on my shoulder. My eyes were focused on Jess and the president, but I heard the police officers stamping their feet lightly, uncomfortable with the president's taking over their job, as well as the construction workers whispering amongst themselves.

The president laughed. "Very funny. I'm your commander in chief, young lady."

"I told you my name. Now I would appreciate if you would call me by my name. And if you would tell me yours."

"What is this CSSW you were referring to," he demanded, ignoring her request. "Because considering you're here today, it sounds like a death sentence to me."

"Excuse me?" Jessica asked.

Quickly, I stood. I had to take some of the heat off of Jess. "Mr. Lansing, CSSW stands for Cultural Studies, Sociology, and Women's Studies." Jessica looked surprised that I knew even that. I gave her a half-smiling look, and she returned it, shaking her head slowly and looking away from the president. "Our class aims to break down the borders between the classroom and the rest of the world out there. I mean, the rest of the world, like what's happening right here. This is the world. The real world."

Mr. Lansing looked at me in disbelief. "No, young lady, this is a university. And learning should be confined to its proper space of within the classroom."

"This looks like a classroom to me," I replied. He looked shocked, and I rushed to explain. "Look around. People, sitting together, thinking hard, speaking their minds, standing up for what they believe in, but leaving their minds open to the possibility of something new."

Eric stepped in, taking his cue from what Marco had said just before the president had entered. "Sir, if this space is needed for the – ahem – _Ethics_ Committee, well sir, all we really ask is a different space on campus for the LGBTQ Centre. Even the classroom isn't always safe for us, and we need a space that is."

The male police officer gulped and stepped forward. "I'll now let you know that you have two minutes to extract yourselves from a very unpleasant situation," he mumbled.

"No, officer," Mr. Lansing disagreed. "You can start arresting them now."

"Oh, great," Paige grumbled, and I couldn't help but grin at her non-chalance. She didn't want to get arrested probably because she would get filthy in the process. And it would just be bothersome.

A murmur went up around the room as we each individually tried to decide on a course of action. Was this really worth getting arrested? It was a losing battle. Arrest or no arrest, we wouldn't win back the space. How could something be so unfair? It wasn't like a game, where each side was equal to begin with.

"With all due respect, sir, I'll give them their last minute and forty-five seconds, as promised, to vacate the premises."

For a moment the president looked like he might argue, but then all he said was, "Fine, but you can be sure they'll be pegged with non-academic misconduct on their records as well."

So, we had a minute and forty seconds on our side. Were there any other bargaining chips? I looked frantically around the room. Even Jessica looked as frightened as a rabbit. My eyes fell on the president, Mr. Lansing, and his face, flushed with anger. Boy, Jessie would have loved to get a picture of that.

Then it dawned on me. I quickly stepped around Marco to stand beside Eric, and gave him a little nudge. Then I looked right into the president's eyes. "It might be only fair to let you know too, Mr. Lansing, that two of us here are not only students but also reporters for The Core. And believe me, we won't mince words about what's going on here today."

"Are you threatening me, young lady?" the president snarled.

The female police officer stepped forward. "I think we can be the judge of that, sir. And that wasn't a threat. It was free speech – and standing up for freedom of the press."

Her partner was obviously less easy to win over. "Regardless of whether or not you mince words, miss, you will still be arrested if you and your friends don't leave within the next thirty seconds."

"And with every second you're holding up production," Mr. Lansing muttered.

Eric looked at me. His eyes were so sad. _We can't leave,_ they seemed to plead.

I shook my head. There was just no way we could win – at least not by staying. "Well, Mr. Lansing, we would hate to hold up production," I said, shaking. "But you haven't heard the last of us."

My CSSW classmates looked utterly relieved as I stalked toward the door and they scrambled to their feet to follow. Paige and some of the others joined us. Eric just looked at me in dismay. His face crumpled as even Marco took a step away from him.

Marco whispered to him. "Ellie is right. This is not the end. We'll keep fighting, Eric. If we let them defeat us now, we won't be able to fight."

I think he was crying. But he followed us out anyhow.

On the way out, Mr. Lansing grabbed Jessica by the arm. "As of right now you can consider your class cancelled and you to be relieved of your duties."

"You can't do that," she yelped. "I'm unionized."

"I can and I will," he replied, glaring. "Unionization means nothing. Only tenure does. I'm sure the university won't suffer from losing an instructor who has no idea how to teach."

Jessica didn't seem at all surprised, stunned, shocked. I certainly was. Eric was crying on the outside; I was crying on the inside. I had brought us here. This was all my fault…

But Jessica kept fighting, even in her defeat. "Yeah, I guess only tenure matters. Tell that to me and 70% of the other instructors in this place." And she walked away without giving him the satisfaction of any more words.

Outside the room it was my turn to grab Jessica. "I'm sorry, Jess, I –"

"No, Ellie, this is not your fault," she assured me, tears welling in her eyes. "You've earned what you set out to earn, believe me."

As she walked away, the rest of us stood there, stunned. What to do now? For me, the answer was not so hard. In my mind, I was already composing my latest and greatest article ever for The Core…


End file.
